THE  QUEEN'S  GARDEN 


731 


M.  E.M.DAVIS 


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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


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By  M.  E.  M.  DAVIS  f  f 

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The  gate  is  locked  and  the  key  is  losty 

I'm  in  tbis^  Lady's  Garden  ^    Q. 

©     ©  OLD  SONG  ©     © 

©     ©  ©     © 


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^f^W 

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©    ©  BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK  ©  © 

©    ©    HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY    ©  © 

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©©  1900  ©© 

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Copyright,  1900,  by  M.  E.  M.  Davis 
All  rights  reserved 


To 
MARY  PEARL  DAVIS 


Content^ 

PAGE 

I.  THE    LETTER        .  .  .  .  •         I 

II.  ACROSS    THE    RIVER  ...  9 

III.  A    CLOSED    DOOR  .  .  .  1 6 

IV.  WITHIN  .....  23 
V.  APPARITIONS          .  34 

VI.  MONDAY  ...  .46 

VII.  TUESDAY  .  .  .  .  ...       57 

VIII.  WEDNESDAY     .  .  .  .  .  68 

IX.  THURSDAY  .  .  .  .  •       79 

X.  FRIDAY  .  .  .  .  .  88 

XI.  THE    FLOWER        .  .  .  .  .98 

XII.  SATURDAY         .....  IO8 

XIII.  SUNDAY     .  .  .  .  .  •     115 

xiv.  CLAUDE'S  WAY        .          .          .          .125 

xv.  LOVE'S  WAY      .          .          .          .          '136 


The    (QUEEN'S 
GARDEN 


JLettet 


NOEL  LEPEYRE  sat  looking 
out  of  the  car  window.  The 
train  rolled  almost  noiselessly 
over  its  smooth  road-bed.  There  were 
sugar  plantations  on  either  side,  where 
the  cane  waved  and  glistened  under  the 
yellow  rays  of  the  setting  sun  ;  and  occa- 
sional groves  of  orange-trees,  whose  stiff, 
round-bunched  green  threw  into  bright 
relief  the  silvery  shining  banana-clumps 
beyond.  Long  stretches  of  half-cleared 
swamp-land,  where  bearded  moss  hung 
motionless  from  the  bare  limbs  of  girdled 
trees,  alternated  with  fields  of  artichoke, 
dust-gray  in  the  hot  September  haze. 
Now  and  then  quaint  old  towns  flashed 


by,  with  red  roofs,  and  church  spires 
needle-like  against  the  sky.  The  land- 
scape, poetic,  semi-tropical,  unfamiliar, 
harmonized,  to  Noel's  dreaming  fancy, 
with  the  foreign  speech  of  a  group  of  girls 
over  against  her.  They  had  entered  the 
car  at  the  last  station,  and  they  were  chat- 
tering like  young  sparrows.  She  did  not 
understand  the  musical  tongue,  but  some- 
thing within  her  —  her  father's  blood  — 
responded  to  its  soft  accents,  its  caressing 
tones  and  slurring  syllables.  "  Ah,  they 
are  Creoles,  those  girls  ;  I  am  sure  of  it !  " 
she  murmured  in  a  pleased  undertone, 
listening,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  flying 
cane-fields. 

Apparently  there  was  nothing  foreign 
about  herself  except  her  name.  Her  flut- 
tering neighbors  were  dark-haired,  vel- 
vet-eyed, plump,  bewitching.  Noel  was 
tall  and  slim  —  much  too  meagre,  indeed, 
for  beauty. 

Her  limpid  eyes  were  blue-gray  ;   her 


better 


mouth  drooped  a  little  at  the  corners 
like  that  of  a  child  who  has  been  crying 
vainly  for  its  mother.  Her  hair,  coiled 
in  wavy  abundance  on  the  nape  of  her 
white  neck,  was  ashen-blonde,  —  "  sun- 
lighted,"  the  old  gentleman  on  the  seat 
behind  her,  who  had  traveled  in  the 
same  coach  with  her  for  two  days,  had 
at  length  decided.  He  marveled  greatly, 
Major  John  Steele,  being  very  old-fash- 
ioned, that  so  young  a  girl,  so  very 
beautiful,  reminding  him  so  strangely  of 
a  girl  whom  he  had  loved  —  and  lost  — 
in  his  early  youth,  should  be  allowed  to 
journey  so  far  without  a  companion. 

Noel  Lepeyre  was  traveling  alone. 
But  that  was  nothing !  She  was  used 
to  being  alone.  Only  —  her  heart  be- 
gan to  beat,  and  the  blood  mounted  to 
her  pale  cheeks  as  her  thoughts  reverted 
once  more  to  that  unknown  relative  — 
French  Creole,  like  her  father  —  to  whom 
the  too  rapid  railway  train  was  convey- 


ing  her.  Perhaps  aunt  Margaret  — 
"Tante  Marguerite  "  she  had  called  her- 
self in  the  letter  —  would  speak  no  Eng- 
lish ! 

Another  aunt !  Noel  heaved  a  dole- 
ful sigh.  For  this  strange,  formidable, 
foreign  aunt  was  no  less  than  the  fourth 
who  had  entered,  armed  with  authority, 
into  her  life.  Already  there  had  been 
three,  —  all  poor,  but  at  least  they  could 
speak  English  !  commented  Noel  mis- 
erably. Three,  of  varying  degrees  of 
consanguinity,  since  Claude  Lepeyre  and 
his  wife  had  died,  one  following  the 
other  within  a  month  to  the  hillside 
cemetery  in  west  Texas,  leaving  the  lit- 
tle maid  of  seven  dependent  upon  the 
family  charity.  Noel  began  to  reckon 
them  up  and  tell  them  off  as  usual  on 
her  fingers :  first,  aunt  Hester,  mam- 
ma's sister,  with  her  pale  face  and 
weary  voice ;  her  slouching  husband 
and  her  herd  of  noisy  children,  —  no 


iUtter 


wonder  she  died,  poor  aunt  Hester. 
Then,  mamma's  great-aunt,  who  was  no- 
thing short  of  terrible.  Aunt  Harlowe, 
who  reckoned  crinkly  hair  —  one  of 
Claude  Lepeyre's  many  sins  visited 
upon  his  daughter  —  a  shame  and  a  dis- 
grace. Noel  put  up  a  white,  ungloved 
hand,  and  patted  down  the  flying  curls 
about  her  ears  in  retrospective  awe  of 
great-aunt  Harlowe.  Number  Two, 
on  a  belated  deathbed,  confided  the 
penniless  orphan  to  step-aunt  Mitch- 
ell. Tears  rose  to  Noel's  eyes,  and  her 
slender  throat  swelled.  She  had  loved 
step-aunt  Mitchell  despite  her  scolding 
tongue  —  oh,  in  spite  of  many  things 
besides  the  little-to-eat  and  the  less-to- 
wear  of  her  seven  years'  drudgery  with 
Number  Three !  The  mourning  she 
wore  for  this  latest  guardian  was  rusty. 
But  this  came  of  having  to  wear  the  one 
gown,  day  in  and  day  out,  in  the  little 
country  school  where  she  had  been 


teaching  since  that  rainy  day  in  the  cem- 
etery six  months  ago.  Noel's  tears 
flowed  unchecked  down  her  softly-wan 
cheeks,  and  fell  in  a  bright  shower  on 
the  rusty  black  gown. 

Major  John  Steele  leaned  forward  and 
opened  his  lips  to  speak.  But  he  drew 
back,  for  the  girl  had  taken  a  letter  from 
her  traveling-bag,  and  was  smoothing 
out  its  thin  crinkly  folds  on  her  knee. 

Another  aunt.  This  time  at  least 
a  real  one.  Papa's  own  sister  —  dear, 
brave,  beautiful  papa  !  Nevertheless 
she  shivered  ;  the  phraseology  of  the  let- 
ter was  so  remote,  so  strange,  so  unreal. 

I  await  thy  coming  with  rapture,  my 
child.  Where  have  they  hidden  thee 
through  all  these  years,  that  I  have 
not  even  known  of  thy  existence  !  I 
learn  of  it  but  this  instant  from  thy  let- 
ter. I  have  been  a  lonely  woman  nearly 
the  whole  of  my  life,  having  left  to  me 


iUttcr 


neither  father,  nor  mother,  husband, 
nor  son ;  nor  helas,  my  only  brother ! 
Claude,  thy  father,  was  used  to  call  me 
La  Reine  Margot,  in  the  old  days  be- 
fore we  quarreled  and  he  went  away. 
Helas,  we  had  quarreled,  my  brother 
Claude  and  I.  (I  will  tell  thee  about 
that  foolish  quarrel,  mon  enfant.)  And 
I  never  heard  from  him  again,  nor  knew 
whither  he  had  gone  !  So,  he  married, 
my  brother  Claude  —  an  Americane, 
n'est  ce  pas  ?  And  he  is  dead  !  And 
Margot  has  been  these  many  years  a 
discrowned  queen  !  But  enough.  Come 
to  me  without  delay,  my  child.  I  send 
money  for  the  journey  of  thyself  and 
thy  maid.  (Noel  laughed  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  at  the  mere  notion  of  Noel 
Lepeyre  attended  by  a  maid.)  Stay 
not  for  any  preparation.  I  am  having 
thy  garments  made  here.  Come,  Noel, 
Claude's  daughter.  I  am  become  old. 
I  am  impatient.  Marcelle  will  meet 


8  tEPfre  flkueen'g 


thee  on  the  further  side  of  the  river, 
and  conduct  thee  to  me.  Viens,  cherie, 
viens,  sans  delai,  a  ta 

TANTE  MARGUERITE. 


II 


NOEL  folded  up  the  letter  and 
returned  it  to  the  bag.  She 
was  almost,  nay,  quite  sorry 
that  she  had  adventured  the  note  of  in- 
quiry which  had  brought  this  immediate 
response.  But  she  had  been  so  forlorn 
the  day  her  school  closed  !  And  step- 
aunt  Mitchell's  cousin,  Louisa  Marsh, 
had  come,  in.  a  lopsided  buggy,  to  take 
her  to  a  new  home,  —  another  aunt ! 
And,  quite  by  accident,  —  at  the  time 
it  seemed  by  special  decree  of  Provi- 
dence, —  she  had  found  among  her  fa- 
ther's treasured  papers  a  memorandum 
in  his  own  handwriting :  — 

"  For  Noel,  in  case  of  my  death. 
•  'The  address  of  my  only  sister. 

MADAME  ANATOLE  CHRETIEN, 

No. St., 

New  Orleans." 


io 


Xante  Marguerite's  letter  was  most 
kind,  certainly  ;  the  inclosure  had  taken 
her  breath  away  ;  a  princely  sum  re- 
mained even  after  the  lavish  parting 
gifts  to  nearly  everybody  in  the  neigh- 
borhood !  But,  oh,  the  longing  to  go 
back  !  to  the  shock-headed  school-chil- 
dren !  to  the  leaky  shed-room  in  the 
country  boarding-house  !  even  to  step- 
aunt  Mitchell's  cousin,  Louisa  Marsh  ! 

A  sudden  darkness  succeeded  to  the 
pale  gleam  of  the  fast-falling  twilight. 
Noel  looked  up.  The  train  had  come 
to  a  standstill  under  a  vast  iron  shed. 
Passengers  were  hastily  collecting  their 
bags  and  bundles.  The  vivacious  group 
of  dark-eyed  girls  were  already  rustling 
along  the  aisle,  calling  gayly  to  friends 
without  as  they  crowded  to  the  plat- 
form. 

The  young  girl  traveling  alone  stood 
up,  her  pulses  jumping  painfully.  Ma- 
jor John  Steele,  carrying  his  battered 


tlie  Hitler  n 


valise,  his  umbrella,  and  his  gold-headed 
cane  in  one  hand,  picked  up  her  travel- 
ling-bag with  the  other.  "  Let  me  assist 
you,"  he  said  courteously.  "  I  am  told 
that  we  take  a  ferry-boat  here  to  cross 
the  Mississippi  River."  He  walked  on 
without  awaiting  a  reply  ;  she  followed 
mechanically,  a  pitiful  sort  of  smile  fro- 
zen on  her  quivering  lips.  "  Are  you 
expecting  any  one  ?  Will  your  friends 
meet  you  ?  "  he  continued,  when  he  had 
helped  her  from  the  car. 

"  Yes,  sir."  She  scanned  eagerly  the 
faces  of  the  jostling  crowd  in  the  sta- 
tion. "  I  am  expecting  Marcelle  "  — 
She  stopped,  blushing  in  a  shamefaced 
way.  It  had  occurred  to  her  for  the  first 
time  that  she  did  not  know  whether  Mar- 
celle were  old  or  young,  black  or  white, 
man  or  woman!  Marcelle  sounded, 
she  thought,  like  a  man's  name,  but  — 
Her  companion  was  already  hurrying 
her  down  the  long  flight  of  steps  to  the 


12          qfyt  £hieen'$ 


ferry  -  boat   which    awaited   its    passen- 
gers. 

The  mighty  river  lay  apparently  mo- 
tionless under  the  darkening  sky.  Only 
a  bit  of  driftwood  swirling  by,  here  and 
there,  betrayed  the  treacherous  under- 
current at  that  moment  gnawing  .away 
the  very  point  upon  which  the  ferry-land- 
ing was  constructed.  The  long  line  of 
electric  lights  outlining  the  great  crescent 
of  the  opposite  shore  sparkled  like  a 
jeweled  chain  against  a  vapory  sky,  and 
scintillated  brokenly  in  the  dark  waters 
below.  A  few  boats  moved  softly  on 
the  stream  ;  small  craft  with  noiseless  in- 
visible oars,  a  steamboat  or  two  trailing 
long  plumes  of  spark-shotten  smoke  from 
their  tall  chimneys  ;  and  one  majestic  brig, 
in  tow  of  a  puffing  tug,  making  for  her 
berth  against  the  levee.  There  was  a 
sense  of  moonlight  in  the  air,  though  a 
bank  of  cloud  hid  the  waxing  moon. 
Noel  stood  silent  at  the  major's  elbow. 


Across  t\)t  ftiber  13 

"  My  name,"  he  explained,  stooping 
to  her,  for  he  was  very  tall,  and  affect- 
ing not  to  observe  her  agitation,  "my 
name  is  John  Henry  Steele,  late  a  major 
in  the  Confederate  States  Army." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Noel  brightening,  "  my 
father  was  in  the  army,  too.  Captain 
Lepeyre  —  Captain  Claude  Lepeyre.  I 
am  Noel  Lepeyre." 

tc  So  ?  "  said  the  major,  pleased.  "  All 
the  better.  You  will  allow  me  to  take 
care  of  you  —  the  daughter  of  a  comrade- 
in-arms  —  if  Mar  —  if  " — 

"  Marcelle,"  prompted  Noel.  "  Mar- 
celle  was  to  meet  me  on  the  further  side 
of  the  river." 

"  —  if  Marcelle  should  not  be  at  the 
landing.  Doubtless  he  —  she  —  Mar- 
celle—  has  been  delayed." 

At  that  moment  the  boat  uttered  a 
groaning  protest,  trembled  and  stood  still. 
Noel's  heart,  which  under  its  temporary 
respite  had  become  almost  tranquil,  be- 
gan to  throb  again. 


14  tER&e  fluent's  Garten 


"Is  there  a  —  a  person  here  by  the 
name  of  Marcelle  ?  "  demanded  Major 
John  Steele  in  a  loud  and  somewhat  stern 
voice,  when  they  had  reached  the  crowded 
waiting-room.  A  few  people  paused  to 
stare  in  his  direction,  but  no  one  re- 
sponded. 

"  Is  there  any  one  here  to  meet 
Miss  Lepeyre  ?  Miss  Noel  Lepeyre  ?  " 
he  asked  after  a  moment's  silence, 
glaring  around  the  rapidly  emptying 
room. 

The  major  damned,  under  his  breath, 
the  criminal  negligence  of  Miss  Noel 
Lepeyre's  friends.  A  girl  of  nineteen 
—  a  girl  like  that  !  alone  at  night  in  a 
strange,  wicked,  devouring  city  !  By  Gad, 
this  Marcelle,  devil  take  him,  ought  to 
be  strung  up  to  the  nearest  limb  !  But 
he  turned  a  reassuring  face  to  Miss  Le- 
peyre herself.  "  Do  not  be  worried,  my 
child,"  he  said.  "  You  have  the  address 
of  your  aunt  ?  Yes  ?  Then  it  is  a  very 


tlje  Utter  15 


simple  matter.  Let  me  have  your  check 
first,  so  that  I  may  send  up  your  trunk  ; 
then,  I  will  conduct  you  to  Madame 
Chretien." 


Ill 


Cloven 


THE  swift  flight  of  the  electric 
car  through  the  dim  streets,  the 
loud,  insistent  clang  of  its  bell, 
its  amazing  curves  and  dangerous  dou- 
blings, disquieted  Major  Steele  almost  as 
much  at  they  did  his  companion.  He 
sat  with  closed  eyes,  a  valise  on  either 
knee,  holding  Noel's  hand  ;  and  he 
thanked  God  aloud  when  the  new-fan- 
gled coach  stopped.  The  conductor, 
calling  out  the  name  of  the  street,  assist- 
ed the  old  man  and  his  charge  to  alight. 
"A  great  advance  inlocomotion  doubt- 
less," remarked  the  major  as  the  car 
darted  away.  "  But  for  myself,  I  prefer 
a  buggy  and  a  pair  of  mules  !  I  am  not 
familiar  with  the  city  of  New  Orleens," 
he  continued,  picking  his  way  across  the 
granite  pavement  to  the  sidewalk,  with 


spoor  17 


Noel's  hand  on  his  arm.  cc  I  have  in- 
deed never  been  here  before.  This,  I 
take  it,  from  the  foreign  names  I  observe 
on  the  signs,  is  the  celebrated  French 
Quarter.  He  looked  around  with  an  in- 
terest which  in  truth  was  wholly  feigned. 
For  he  was  old,  the  major,  and  very 
tired. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Noel,  appalled  by 
the  forbidding  strangeness  of  the  narrow 
side  street,  whose  peaked  roofs  seemed 
almost  to  meet  in  the  strip  of  sky  above. 
The  standing  water  in  the  open  gutters 
nauseated  her,  the  unintelligible  chatter 
of  the  children  swarming  the  pavements 
confused  her  wearied  senses.  cc  Let  us 
go  back  !  I  mean  —  oh,  I  mean,  you 
must  not  come  out  of  your  way  with  me, 
dear  Major  Steele.  I  am  giving  you  so 
much  trouble  !  I  —  I  can  find  the  place 
by  myself  I  am  s-s-sure." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  returned  the  major 
decidedly.  "  Do  you  think  I  would 


allow  such  a  thing  !  It  is  not  tlie  least 
trouble.  Besides,  I  have  a  granddaughter 
at  home  about  your  age,"  he  added,  as 
if  to  clinch  the  matter. 

As  they  advanced  along  the  street 
the  crowd  seemed  to  thicken.  At  one 
corner  a  barrel-organ,  ground  by  a  ragged 
negro  lad,  was  wheezing  forth  a  melan- 
choly tune ;  a  dozen  or  more  children 
danced  gayly  to  the  music  ;  a  few  paces 
further  on,  a  couple  of  men  stationed 
like  sentinels  before  a  closed  door  which 
gave  directly  upon  the  sidewalk,  were 
good-humoredly  returning  the  jeers  and 
taunts  of  the  gang  of  gamins,  of  both 
sexes  and  divers  colors,  surrounding 
them.  A  small  parti-colored  flag  flut- 
tered from  the  lintel  of  the  door,  just 
above  their  heads.  The  old  Confeder- 
ate officer  stopped  a  second  to  peer  at 
this  unknown  pennon,  which  perhaps 
evoked  memories  of  another,  unforgot- 
ten,  rag  of  bunting ;  but  at  a  half  whis- 


Cloaca  s>oor  19 


pered  explanation  from  one  of  the  senti- 
nels, he  uttered  a  horrified  ejaculation 
and  hurried  his  companion  forward. 

The  house  they  sought  was  but  half 
a  square  away.  The  ponderous  wooden 
door  was  shut.  The  tall  brick  building, 
with  its  drawn  shutters  and  grilled  bal- 
conies, had  the  air  of  a  prison.  Major 
*  Steele  hesitated  as  he  laid  a  hand  upon 
the  huge  iron  knocker.  "  I  can  take  you 
to  some  friends  of  my  own,  Miss  Noel," 
he  suggested  tentatively,  "  at  least  until 
to-morrow.  Would  you  not  prefer 
this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  cried  hysterically  : 
"  See,  here  is  her  name  on  the  door-plate. 
Madame  Anatole  Chretien.  Madame 
Chretien  is  my  father's  sister  —  my  own 
aunt." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know."  The  reverber- 
ating echo  of  the  knock,  thrice  repeated, 
brought  the  pack  of  gamins  to  the  spot. 
They  looked  on  curiously  while  Ma- 


20          t&ty  ^iueen'0 


jor  Steele  listened  and  knocked,  and 
knocked  and  listened  again.  Noel 
stared  with  fascinated  eyes  at  the  gro- 
tesque face  which  grinned  at  her  from 
the  knocker. 

"This  is  Sunday,  you  know,  my 
child,"  the  major  remarked  at  length, 
desisting  and  turning  to  her.  "  Doubt- 
less the  servants  are  all  out."  But,  as 
he  spoke,  the  sound  of  a  falling  bar  was 
heard  within,  a  bolt  shot  aside,  the  small 
wicket,  set  like  a  trap-door  in  one  of  the 
green  batten  valves  of  the  portal,  was 
opened  cautiously,  and  a  woman's  voice 
demanded  querulously, 

"  Qu'est-ce  que  c'est,  que  9a  ?  Qui 
est  la  ?  " 

"  Comment  9a  va,  Madame  la  Gro- 
gneuse  !  Ah,  ah,  Marcelle  !  vieille  sor- 
ciere  !  Va-t-en  !  Va-t-en  !  yelled  the 
gamins,  dancing  in  a  body  to  the  thresh- 
old of  the  door,  and  rushing  back  into 
the  street, 


3L  Closeft  Door  21 

"  Oh,"  breathed  Noel,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  hearing  the  now  familiar  name. 
"  It  is  Marcelle  "  — 

"  Marcelle,  judging  by  the  voice,  is  a 
woman,"  interjected  the  major,  not  fully 
satisfied. 

"It  is  I,  Marcelle!  Noel,  Noel 
Lepeyre  ;  Madame  Chretien's  niece." 

"  Grand  Dieu  !  Je  1'avais  oubliee  !  " 
Marcelle  thrust  her  face  through  the 
opening;  a  wrinkled  yellow  face,  framed 
in  a  lofty  tignon,  with  deep-set  yellow- 
brown  eyes  and  overhanging  brows. 
Major  Steele's  anxious  brow  cleared ;  the 
respectable  old  family  servant  was  un- 
mistakable. Noel  was  already  shaking 
his  hand  gayly.  "  Good-by,  Major 
Steele ;  good-by,  dear  Major  Steele. 
You  have  been  so  good  to  me.  I  shall 
never  forget  you,  never  !  " 

The  major  looked  at  her  a  little  wist- 
fully over  his  shoulder,  as  he  trudged 
away,  limping,  bent,  and  travel-worn. 


22 


Her  light  figure  was  poised,  butterfly- 
like,  on  the  threshold  of  the  wide  door. 
She  was  gazing  with  eager  eyes  before 
her,  and  into  her  own  new  life.  "  Even 
now  she  has  forgotten  me  !  "  he  sighed. 
"  Heigho  !  it  is  the  way  of  youth." 

He  entered  an  electric  car,  too  weary 
to  be  apprehensive  of  its  rocket-like 
vagaries,  and  sank  into  a  corner. 

Marcel]  e  had  drawn  back  her  head. 
She  seemed  about  to  shut  the  wicket  in 
the  intruder's  face.  But  Noel  forestalled 
her  by  stepping  over  the  high  sill  into 
the  corridor. 


IV 


THE  old  mulattress  closed  the 
door  and  put  the  huge  iron 
bar  in  its  place.  Meantime, 
Noel's  eyes  sought  to  pierce  the  gloom 
about  her.  The  tunnel-like  corridor 
was  wide  and  high ;  a  small  stream,  of 
water  ran  in  a  shallow  groove  along  the 
middle  of  the  stone  pavement,  glinting 
like- a  silver  thread  at  the  farther  end 
where  the  corridor  opened  into  a  gar- 
den-close filled  with  pale  moonlight. 
A  far-away  musical  sound  as  of  falling 
spray  echoed  along  the  raftered  ceiling 
and  mingled  with  the  confused  noises 
of  the  street  outside.  Noel,  following 
her  mute  conductress,  caught,  as  she 
drew  near  the  court,  a  glimmer  of  star- 
like  blossoms  among  the  sombre  masses 
of  foliage  there  ;  and  inhaled  the  subtle 


24          W$t  flkueen's 


scent  of  night  -  blooming  jessamine, 
which  pervaded  the  warm  air. 

At  the  foot  of  the  wide  sweep  of  stair 
which  led  into  the  arched  hall,  Marcelle 
paused.  "  I  h'ask  the  pardon  of  mam- 
selle,"  she  said,  speaking  for  the  first 
time  in  intelligible  though  quaint  and 
stiff  English  ;  "  I  have  forgot  to  go  to 
that  r-rell-r-road,  me.  I  am  desolated. 
Mon  Dieu  !  how  madame  will  be  en- 
r-rage  '  !  You  have  voyaged  alone  in  that 
r-rell-r-road,  Mamselle  Noel  ?  Ees  eet 
that  you  have  no  femme  de  chambre  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Noel,  smiling,  "  I  came 
alone  !  " 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  Mon  Dieu  !  Quelle 
imprudence  !  An'  me,  I  have  forgot 
that  r-rell-r-road  !  " 

cc  Oh,  it  did  not  matter  at  all,  your 
not  meeting  me,"  interrupted  Noel 
kindly.  "  I  had  no  trouble  getting 
here  ;  there  was  the  nicest  old  gentle- 
man —  I  will  explain  to  my  aunt  "  — 


25 


A  curious  spasm  passed  over  Mar- 
celle's  face.  She  stepped  hastily  back  ; 
for  a  second  it  seemed  to  Noel  that  the 
old  servitor,  conscience-stricken  perhaps, 
and  dreading  the  wrath  of  her  mistress, 
was  meditating  flight.  But  after  a  help- 
less glance  around,  she  brushed  past  the 
young  girl  and  led  the  way  up  the  stair. 
In  the  lighted  vestibule  she  paused 
again.  "  You  are  hongree,  Mamselle 
Noel  ?  You  will  come  in  the  salle-a- 
manger  ?  " 

"Is  my  aunt  —  is  Madame  Chretien 
there?"  Noel  frowned  slightly  as  she 
put  the  question.  A  half-formed  fear 
of  her  guide  began  to  assail  her. 

"  No,  Mamselle  Noel,  Madame 
Chretien  ees  een  hair  baid  "  — 

«  Her  "  — 

"  Hair  baid,  mamselle.  Since  to- 
day she  ees  a  leetle  seeck." 

"Oh  !  "  Noel's  voice  was  full  of  dis- 
may. "  My  aunt  is  sick  ?  She  is  in 


26 


bed  ?  Then  take  me  to  her.  At  once, 
Marcelle." 

"  Pardon,  mamselle.  Madame  has 
not  yet  hear'  that  you  have  arrive'.  I 
will  tell  hair.  She  will  be  emotioned. 
But  she  has  order  me  al-r-ready  to  say 
that  she  will  res-ceive  mamselle,  hair 
niece,  to-morrow." 

Marcelle'  s  voice  was  respectful,  but 
firm. 

Noel's  vague  fear  increased.  What 
if  this  meagre,  weazened,  yellow  old  crea- 
ture were  one  of  those  wicked  enchan- 
tresses of  whom  she  had  read?  One  of 
those  voodoo  witches  who  tole  young 
girls  to  destruction.  She  dared  not  fol- 
low her  impulse  to  cry  out,  but  she 
moved  slowly,  with  her  eyes  fixed  warily 
upon  the  spare  figure  before  her,  ready 
to  turn  and  flee  at  the  slightest  doubtful 
word  or  gesture.  Marcelle  threw  open 
the  door  of  a  large  brilliantly  lighted 
room,  and  stood  aside,  motioning  the 


Wirijin  27 


guest,  or  interloper  ?  to  enter.  On  the 
threshold,  where  she  halted  trembling, 
Noel's  fears  instantly  vanished.  The 
first  object  which  met  her  roving  glance 
was  a  portrait  of  her  own  father.  It  hung, 
wreathed  with  fresh  flowers,  above  the 
carved  mantel ;  the  lighted  candelabra 
below  were  veiled  with  softly  tinted 
shades.  The  dark,  delicate  face  smiled 
down  at  her  in  tender  greeting,  as  from 
a  rosy  aureole. 

"  Oh,  Marcelle  !  "  breathed  the  girl, 
with  a  quick  gush  of  happy  tears. 

The  small  table,  daintily  laid  for  two, 
was  also  adorned  with  roses.  cc  Madame 
has  h'arrange'  those  rose  hairself,"  ex- 
plained Marcelle,  her  manner  beginning 
to  lose  something  of  its  studied  formal- 
ity. "  Also,  madame  has  had  the  inten- 
tion to  dine  with  mamselle  ;  but  thees 
indisposition,  —  oh,  jus'  a  bagatelle  of 
a  migraine,  oh,  but  no'sing  to  tr-rouble 
mamselle"  — 


28 


"  I  am  so  sorry/'  cried  Noel.  "  I  wish 
I  might  see  her.  For  one  moment,  Mar- 
celle?" 

"  Non  !  Non  !  Madame  hairself  has 
forbeed  mamselle  to  h'approach  hair 
baid,"  the  mulattress  returned  hastily. 
"You  will  h'  excuse  me,  Mamselle  Noel," 
she  added  with  more  composure,  "  eef  I 
go  to  breeng  yo'  dinner  ?  The  domesteek 
have  all  depart,  since  to-day  —  cochons, 
imbeciles,  tetes  de  choux  !  "  She  re- 
lapsed suddenly  into  her  native  tongue, 
shaking  her  turbaned  head  wrathfully  ; 
the  great  hoops  of  gold  in  her  ears  beat- 
ing her  cheeks. 

"  Do  not  trouble  about  me  at  all, 
Marcelle,"  besought  Noel,  sitting  down 
to  her  soup.  "  I  am  sure  my  aunt  must 
need  you.  And  I  am  used  to  waiting 
on  myself." 

"  Merci,  mamselle."  Marcelle's  se- 
vere face  had  relaxed,  though  her  eyes 
were  sombre  and  unsmiling.  Neverthe- 


Within  29 


less,  she  remained  to  serve  the  appetizing 
meal  with  an  elaborate  ceremony  quite 
startling  to  Noel's  country-bred  eyes. 
Then,  with  a  murmured  "  Pan/0#,"  she 
went  away. 

Noel  heard,  or  thought  she  heard, 
the  sound  of  voices  somewhere  in  the 
house  ;  one  raised  in  surprised  expos- 
tulation, the  other  humbly  explanatory. 
But  these  soon  died  away  into  silence. 
She  pushed  her  chair  back  from  the 
flower-laden  table  and  looked  with  un- 
disguised curiosity  about  the  room. 
She  had  eaten  with  the  healthy  appetite 
of  the  young  ;  not  too  much  disturbed, 
to  say  truth,  by  the  slight  indisposition 
of  that  mysterious  unseen  Number 
Four ! 

Ah,  here  was  the  portrait  of  Number 
Four  hanging  on  the  opposite  wall,  — 
Marguerite  Chretien,  by  the  lettered 
legend  on  the  frame.  But,  how  beau- 
tiful !  A  slender  dark-eyed  girl,  in  a  stiff 


30 


white  satin  gown  with  low  corsage  and 
full  sleeves,  heavy  with  pearl  embroidery. 
A  rope  of  milk-white  pearls  melted  into 
her  white  neck  ;  she  had  a  red  rose  in 
her  dusky  hair.  How  strange  that  papa 
had  never  spoken  to  her,  Noel,  of  this 
beautiful  Marguerite  Chretien,  his  only 
sister  ! 

But  stay  !  Little  by  little  there  began 
to  dawn  on  Noel's  memory  fragments 
of  the  stories  he  used  to  tell  her  —  the 
wide-eyed  child  on  his  knee.  One  story 
in  particular,  known  to  father  and  daugh- 
ter as  the  Fairy  Story,  had  in  it  an  old 
enchanted  palace,  with  vine-hung  bal- 
conies and  winding  stairs  ;  and  a  moon- 
lit garden-close,  where  all  manner  of 
strange  and  lovely  trees,  and  shrubs, 
and  flowers  grew.  And  there  was  a 
Toung  £)ueen  who  glided  about  the  stately 
Palace  and  along  the  gar  den  walks,  —  beau- 
tiful, wayward,  and  fateful,  —  La  Reine 
Margot. 


31 


"  Claude,  thy  father,  was  used  to  call 
me  La  Reine  Margot,"  quoted  Noel 
from  Madame  Chretien's  letter,  breath- 
less with  this  discovery.  "  Did  you 
know  my  father,  Marcelle  ? "  she  de- 
manded of  the  mulattress  who  had  en- 
tered noiselessly. 

"  Eef  I  know  M'sieu  Claude  !  But 
yes,  mamselle,  from  an  eenfant.  M'sieu 
Claude  has  been  born  in  thees  'ouse. 
He  was  a  joli  gar£on,  M'sieu  Claude. 
But  me,  I  have  been  the  bonne  of  Mam- 
selle Marguerite.  At  the  cradle  ;  at  the 
schoolroom  ;  at  the  marriage ;  at  the 
death  of  m'sieu,  hair  husband,  at  the 
tomb  of  hair  h'only  son  —  oh,  but  these 
feefty  year,  I  have  been  at  the  side  of 
madame ! " 

The  brown  shapely  hand  holding  the 
silver  candlestick  trembled  so  that  the 
flame  of  the  lighted  candle  wavered  to 
and  fro. 

"  Is  —  is   she  worse  ?     Is   my    aunt 


32 


very  ill  ?  "  Noel,  disturbed  by  an  un- 
dertone in  Marcelle's  voice,  drew  nearer 
and  clasped  her  arm. 

"  Mais,  non,  non  !  Eet  ees  no'sing, 
mon  Dieu,  no'sing  at  all."  She  shook 
off  the  light  clasp  almost  angrily.  "  Will 
you  come  to  yo'  chambre  a  coucher, 
Mamselle  Noel  ?  " 

She  moved  rapidly  away  across  the 
great  arched  hall  and  up  the  broad  stair. 
Noel  ran  lightly  after  her. 

The  bedchamber  on  the  upper  floor 
was  a  large  one.  Noel,  left  alone  in  it, 
looked  rather  sleepily  about  her.  She 
was  surprised  to  see  her  shabby  little 
trunk,  unstrapped,  in  a  corner  ;  and  her 
traveling-bag  open  on  a  chair.  Her 
simple  toilet  articles  had  been  unpacked 
and  arranged  on  the  dressing-table.  A 
dainty  night-robe,  smelling  of  dried  rose- 
leaves,  lay  across  the  foot  of  the  bed  ; 
a  pair  of  tiny  bedroom  slippers  were 
placed  on  the  floor  below.  Noel,  comb- 


33 


ing  out  her  long  hair,  experienced  a  lux- 
urious sensation  quite  new  to  her.  cc  As 
if  I  really  possessed  that  mythical  maid 
— that  femme  de  chambre."  She  laughed, 
imitating,  and  not  unsuccessfully,  Mar- 
celle's  long-drawn  accent.  She  fell  half 
asleep  on  her  knees  in  an  attempt  to  say 
her  prayers,  roused  herself  to  wonder 
over  the  carved  steps  leading  up  to  the 
stately  four-posted,  canopied  bed,  lifted 
the  lace  netting,  sprang  into  the  white 
lavendered  nest,  reached  out  a  hand  to 
extinguish  the  light  on  the  little  table 
de  nuit,  and  fell  instantly  into  dreamless 
slumber. 


NOEL  awoke  with  a  start ;  her 
heart  was  throbbing  unaccount- 
ably. She  sat  up  in  bed  and 
peered  with  sleep-distraught  eyes  through 
the  mosquito-bar.  Its  misty  folds  con- 
fused her;  the  little  statuette  of  the 
Virgin  above  the  benitier  on  the  wall, 
seen  through  them,  reminded  her  vaguely 
of  the  heaven  of  her  childish  dreams, 
with  its  clouds  and  its  harping  angels.  A 
tender  dawnlight  filled  the  room,  and  for 
one  moment  the  silence  was  profound. 
Then  there  came  again  the  sound  which 
had  pierced  her  slumber  —  a  smothered 
wail,  half  pain,  half  anger,  like  the  cry  of 
a  wounded  animal.  Noel,  accustomed 
to  lend  a  hand  in  all  family  emergencies, 
threw  up  the  netting  and  leaped  to  the 
floor.  She  opened  the  door  and  ran 


35 


along  the  outer  hall,  flashing  like  a  white 
spirit  through  its  gloom  ;  and  descended 
the  stair  to  the  broad  landing.  There 
she  paused,  grasping  the  balustrade  with 
one  hand,  and  leaned  over,  gazing  down 
into  the  vestibule  below.  The  sight 
which  met  her  eyes  fairly  froze  the  blood 
in  her  veins.  Marcelle  was  crouched  in 
a  kneeling  posture  against  the  wall ; 
her  long  skinny  arms,  bare  to  the  shoul- 
der, were  raised  above  her  head  ;  her 
face  under  the  dim  light  of  the  hall 
lamp  was  drawn  and  distorted.  She 
rocked  herself  from  side  to  side  in  a  par- 
oxysm of  grief,  or  anger,  uttering  from 
time  to  time  those  crieswhich  had  aroused 
the  sleeping  girl. 

But  the  three  figures  standing  near 
her,  menacing  her  with  signs  and  harsh 
whispers  !  what  were  they  ?  To  Noel's 
frightened  imagination  they  had  the 
appearance  of  spectres,  or  ghouls  !  in 
their  long  yellowish  white  robes  ;  and 


36 


their  strange  head-coverings,  which  were 
drawn  across  the  lower  part  of  their  faces, 
leaving  visible  only  their  angry  and 
threatening  eyes  ;  visions  of  the  Holy 
Inquisition  and  its  terrible  emissaries 
darted  through  her  brain.  A  sinister 
silence  followed  the  hoarse  whisperings. 
Noel  stared  down  with  distended  eyes, 
her  lips  parted,  her  hand  pressed  against 
her  bosom.  Suddenly,  the  mulattress, 
glancing  up,  saw  her  ;  she  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  called  out,  gesticulating  with 
frantic  arms.  Noel  understood  neither 
the  words  nor  the  gesture.  She  con- 
tinued to  stand,  paralyzed  by  terror,  on 
the  landing,  her  slender  form  in  its  snowy 
night-gear  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
But  a  figure  detached  itself  from  the 
shadows  of  a  recess  where  the  pale  dawn 
struggled  with  the  yellow  rays  of  the 
hanging  lamp  —  the  figure  of  a  man, 
Noel  saw  his  face  imperfectly  ;  she  re- 
membered it  afterward  —  the  thin,  dark, 


Apparitions  37 


benignant  face  with  its  white  beard  and 
gray  hair.  But  at  sight  of  him,  a  human 
being  like  herself,  the  blood  flowed  once 
more  to  her  face,  her  feet  were  loosened, 
and  without  even  hearing  his  stern  order, 
"  Back !  Go  back  to  your  room.  At 
once ! "  she  fled  precipitately  to  her 
chamber,  where  she  fell  half  fainting 
upon  her  bed. 

A  long  time  after  —  she  had  hardly 
dared  to  breathe,  but  cowered  shivering 
under  the  bedclothes  —  there  was  a 
knock  at  her  door,  peremptorily  re- 
peated ;  it  was  accompanied  by  a  low 
voice  which  she  recognized  as  Marcelle's. 
"  It  is  I,  Mamselle  Noel.  Come."  Noel's 
relief  was  not  unmixed  with  apprehen- 
sion. But  she  arose  resolutely  and  un- 
bolted and  threw  open  the  door.  There 
was  no  one  in  sight.  As  she  drew  back, 
Marcelle  spoke  again ;  she  was  standing 
some  half  a  dozen  paces  away,  in  the 
embrasure  of  a  hall  window.  Her  face 


38 


still  showed  signs  of  agitation,  but  her 
voice  was  quite  steady. 

"  Listen,  Mamselle  Noel,  eef  you 
please,"  she  began  without  further  pre- 
liminary. "  Madame  Chretien  has  that 
fiev'"  —  la  fievre  jaune.  She  was  souf- 
frante  yesterday,  pauvre  enfant  ;  an'  she 
has  been  afraid  eetwas  that  yellow  fiev'. 
Eet  ees  for  thees  that  she  has  forbeed 
hairself  to  see  mamselle  last  night.  Ah, 
but  Mamselle  Noel,  how  madame  has 
desire  to  hold  you  in  hair  arm  !  How 
she  has  thought  but  of  you  seense  that 
letter  has  arrive'  !  The  flower  and  the 
fraicheur  everywhere,  they  are  of  hair 
hand.  How  she  is  gentille,  ce  pauvre 
ange  !  " 

Marcelle's  hard  voice  melted  with  in- 
describable softness.  "  Eh  bien,  Mam- 
selle Noel,  she  has  that  yellow  fiev'. 
Those  doctor  have  arrive'.  They  have 
h'examine.  They  have  con-suit'.  They 
have  pronounce'.  They  are  imbeciles, 


Apparitions?  39 


in  those  linen  duster  which  make  h'every- 
body  afraid.  Me,  I  did  not  desire  those 
doctor.  Have  I  not  nurse  that  yellow 
fiev'  ?  Ees  eet  that  I  do  not  know  the 
tisanes  for  that  fiev'  ?  But  no.  They 
have  pronounce*.  They  have  nail  a  flag 
on  the  door;  they  have  place'  some 
guard  there,  so  that  nobody  may  enter 
in  that  door,  or  go  out  in  that  street. 
They  have  sen'  a  tr-r-enn-nurse.  Yes. 
As  eef  Marcelle  ees  not  acquaint'  with 
that  yellow  fiev' !  As  eef  m'sieu,  the 
husband  of  Madame  Chretien,  has  not 
die  of  that  fiev'  in  these  arm  !  Hein  !  " 

She  stretched  out  her  arms,  uttering 
an  indignant  snarl.  But  instantly  re- 
turning to  her  calmer  tone,  she  pro- 
ceeded rapidly  to  indicate  the  course  of 
conduct  prescribed  for  her  young  kins- 
woman by  Madame  Chretien  herself,  on 
reading  in  the  faces  of  the  physicians  the 
confirmation  of  her  own  fears. 

Mademoiselle    Lepeyre,    being,    un- 


40  tTOfje 


fortunately,  already  in  the  house,  could 
not  leave  it  until  all  danger  of  infection 
was  past,  without  incurring  the  penalty 
of  the  law.  Neither  mistress  nor  maid 
had  foreseen  this  in  time,  though  Mar- 
celle  took  heaven  to  witness  that  she  had 
felt  inspired  to  shut  the  door  in  Mam- 
selle  Noel's  face  !  The  other  servants 
had  fled  at  the  first  suspicion  of  danger. 
According  to  madame's  orders,  Noel 
was  to  remain  in  that  quarter  of  the 
house  where  she  now  was.  This  part 
of  the  large  mansion,  separated  from  the 
apartment  of  Madame  Chretien  by  a 
broad  transverse  hall,  contained,  besides 
Noel's  bedchamber,  the  dining-room, 
the  salon,  and  the  boudoir  of  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house.  Mamselle  Noel 
might  visit  these  at  will  ;  she  could  also 
descend  into  the  garden  at  her  pleasure  ; 
she  must,  however,  beware  of  the  night 
dews.  A  trained  nurse  was  in  attend- 
ance upon  the  patient,  but  Marcelle 


41 


would  be  permitted — pairmeet,  mon 
Dieu ! — to  go  in  and  out  of  the  sick  room. 
The  other  domestics  having  departed, 
she,  Marcelle,  would  prepare  the  food  of 
Mamselle  Noel  —  and  of  that  tr-r-enn- 
nurse.  But  le  docteur  Grafton  had 
ordered  that  Mamselle  Lepeyre,  being 
totally  unacclimated,  should  come  in 
contact  with  no  one,  not  even  Marcelle, 
who  had  had  the  fever  —  oh,  but  yaas, 
in  '57,  when  the  fievre  jaune  was  the 
fiev' !  Therefore  mamselle  would  have 
the  goodness  to  fix,  on  the  spot,  the 
hours  most  agreeable  for  her  early  coffee, 
her  breakfast,  and  her  dinner.  She  would 
find  these  promptly  on  the  table  in  the 
dining-room.  Unhappily,  mamselle 
would  have  to  serve  herself —  pigs,  im- 
beciles, cabbage-heads  of  cooks  and 
maids  !  Seven,  twelve,  and  five  o'clock  ? 
Tres  bien.  At  the  service  of  mamselle. 
Also,  the  chambre  a  coucher  of  Mam- 
selle Noel  would  be  set  in  order  during 


42          Wqt  fflhieen's  fatten 

her  temporary  absences.  All  this  ma- 
dame  herself  had  arranged,  though  burn- 
ing with  fever.  It  must  be  carried  out 
au  pied  de  la  lettre  since  madame  could 
no  longer  — 

A  dry  sob  shook  the  old  woman's 
bosom  as  she  concluded  her  rapid  ha- 
rangue. She  stepped  from  the  window- 
nook  and  turned  away. 

"  But/'  cried  Noel,  running  after  her, 
and  shrinking  back  again  at  Marcelle's 
stern  gesture,  —  "  but,  Marcelle,  wait. 
Listen.  I  am  not  afraid.  I  have 
nursed  a  great  many  sick  people  already. 
One  little  child,  who  died  on  my  knee  ! 
I  am  not  afraid  !  I  must  see  my  aunt. 
I  wish  to  nurse  her  myself.  Take  me 
to  her,  now.  Now  !" 

Marcelle  almost  smiled  at  the  impe- 
rious tone.  "You  are  not  h'allow', 
mamselle.  Madame  has  give  hair  order, 
they  are  of  iron.  You  will  be  h'alone, 
true.  But  eet  will  be  but  for  some 


43 


days,"  she  added,  rather  to  herself  than 
to  her  listener. 

cc  I  do  not  mind  being  alone/1  cried 
Noel.  "I  am  used  to  that!  But  — 
surely  I  may  see  her!  I  may  at  least 
see  her  ? " 

"  Those  order  of  Madame  Chretien, 
they  are  of  iron,"  repeated  Marcelle 
monotonously. 

"Then,  how  am  I  to  know  how  she 
is?" 

"  With  the  morning  coffee  of  mam- 
selle  —  at  which,  helas,  she  must  serve 
hairself —  pigs,  imbeciles,  cabbage- 
heads  of  maids  !  —  she  will  res-ceive  the 
news  of  madame.  Also,  there  ees  a 
bell  in  the  salle-a-manger.  Mamselle 
can  communicate  eef  absolument  ne- 
cessary. But  not  otherwise.  I  have 
forgot!"  Marcelle  turned  back  once 
more  to  add,  "  Mamselle  Noel  will  find 
in  hair  armoire  that  trousseau  which 
Madame  Chretien  has  prepare'.  Ma- 


44          Wqt  €hieen'£  fatten 

dame  Chretien  has  order'  hair  niece  to 
wear  those  robe.  C'est  tout,  mamselle." 

Noel  listened  to  her  retreating  foot- 
steps ;  they  echoed  down  the  long  stair- 
way and  died  away  in  the  silence  below. 
She  did  not  as  yet  realize  the  strangeness 
of  her  situation.  She  even  laughed  a 
little,  remembering  the  precise  phrase- 
ology of  Madame  Chretien's  femme  de 
chambre,  as  she  swallowed  the  cup  of 
fragrant  black  coffee  from  the  tray  be- 
side her  doorsill.  Then  she  felt  a  pang 
of  remote,  intangible  pity  for  the  woman 
lying  sick  in  another  part  of  the  house ; 
then  a  procession  filed  swiftly  through 
her  brain,  and  vanished,  leaving  her 
heartsick  —  a  ghostly  procession  of 
guardians  and  warders,  which  began  with 
the  shadowy  figure  of  her  father,  and 
ended  with  step-aunt  Mitchell  lying  in 
her  coffin-bed,  white  and  placid,  and  — 
at  last  —  still. 

But   the   heartache   passed   like   the 


apparitions?  45 


procession.  She  felt  buoyant  in  spite 
of  herself.  She  no  longer  wished  to  go 
back  to  step-aunt  Mitchell's  cousin, 
Louisa  Marsh ! 

She  crept  again  into  bed,  and  notwith- 
standing a  ray  of  sunlight  which  struck 
full  upon  her  closed  eyelids,  she  fell 
asleep  once  more. 


VI 


TO  Noel  Lepeyre,  accustomed  to 
the  cramped  shed  -  room  to 
girlhood  consecrated  in  west 
Texas,  her  bedchamber  in  Madame 
Chretien's  city  house  appeared  almost 
awesomely  imposing.  The  furnishings 
were  quaint  and  old-fashioned.  There 
was  a  Psyche  dressing-table  draped  with 
dotted  muslin  ;  and  a  cheval  glass,  much 
spotted  and  discolored  within  its  heavy 
carved  frame.  A  bronze  clock,  silent 
and  sombre  on  the  mantel,  bore  the  date 
of  the  first  French  Empire.  There  were 
a  tall  rosewood  secretary,  a  claw-footed 
centre-table,  and  a  high-backed  chair 
with  an  embroidered  footstool  before  it. 
A  prie-dieu  with  faded  brocade  cush- 
ions occupied  one  recess ;  a  spindle- 
legged  lamp-stand  stood  in  another. 


47 


Some  quite  modern  silver  toilet  articles 
were  scattered  about  the  dressing-table, 
her  own,  looking  quite  homely  and 
shamed,  among  them.  These,  Noel 
discovered  upon  a  closer  examination, 
bore  her  own  monogram,  surmounted 
by  a  small  crest.  The  slender  crystal 
vases  on  the  table  were  filled  with  roses  ; 
the  white  muslin  curtains  were  looped 
with  fresh  ribbons.  All  the  repressed 
girlhood  within  Noel  Lepeyre,  with  its 
instinctive  love  for  pretty  and  dainty 
things,  bubbled  to  the  surface.  She 
danced  across  the  bare  polished  floor,  — 
which  reflected  her  figure  like  a  still 
mountain-lake,  —  to  the  swinging  cheval 
glass.  She  surveyed  herself,  white  from 
head  to  foot  in  an  embroidered  muslin 
gown  from  the  overflowing  armoire. 
"  Ah,  Noel  !  Noel  !  "  she  laughed.  "  No 
more  Black  Days,  Noel.  The  White 
Days  are  come,  Noel,  Noel  !  " 

She  took  a  peep,  in  passing,  from  the 


48          Wqt  ffllumi'tf 


tall  embrasured  window  in  the  hall,  at 
the  garden,  lying  dewy-green  in  the  early 
morning  shadows  far  below,  and  made 
her  way  on  down  the  stair  into  the  break- 
fast-room. Some  quite  unknown  dishes 
gave  out  an  appetizing  odor  from  the 
small  table  set  out  with  rare  china  and 
priceless  crystal,  and  there  were  strange 
fruits  —  golden,  tropical,  shapely  — 
heaped  on^a  silver  salver  beside  her 
plate.  She  nibbled  at  these  with  tenta- 
tive tooth,  and  pushed  the  mangoes  aside 
with  a  wry  face.  "  You  are  laughing  at 
me,  M'sieu  Claude  Lepeyre  !"  she  cried, 
nodding  at  her  father's  portrait  ;  "  and 
you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 
Mon  Dieu,  I  have  not  been  born  in  thees 
'ouse,  like  you  !  And  me,  I  am  not 
h'acquaint  with  those  yellow  fruit  !  " 
And,  pleased  by  her  own  mimicry  of 
Marcelle's  quaint  speech,  she  rose  and 
whirled  about  the  room,  humming  a 
waltz  tune  under  her  breath,  and  hold- 
ing out  her  diaphanous  skirts. 


49 


From  the  region  beyond  the  wide 
dividing  hall,  where  Madame  Chretien 
lay,  already  battling  for  her  life,  no  sound 
came  —  not  a  hushed  echo,  nor  a  muf- 
fled footfall.  Noel  gave  hardly  so  much 
as  a  thought  to  that  undiscovered 
country.  The  sense  of  physical  well- 
being  —  a  consciousness  of  luxury,  of 
soft  ease,  of  refinement  of  surroundings, 
undreamed  of  hitherto  in  her  tempest- 
tossed  young  life —  enveloped  her  like  an 
aura ;  airy  visions,  impalpable  yet  in- 
toxicating, wheeled  and  circled  within  it. 
"  White  Days,  oh,  Noel,  White  Days  !  " 
she  whispered,  slipping  daintily,  and  like 
a  Lady  of  the  Olden  Tyme,  down  the 
stairway  into  the  garden. 

The  large  courtyard  —  a  veritable  gar- 
den-close —  lay  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
city-block,  a  warrant  of  the  influence  of 
the  Lepeyres  under  the  French  colonial 
regime.  One  passing  along  the  cobble- 


50          Wqt  &ueen'$ 


stoned  street  outside  would  never  have 
suspected  its  existence  ;  a  stranger  enter- 
ing it  unaware  from  the  shadowy  corridor 
must  have  stood  still,  as  Noel  now  did, 
in  an  ecstasy  of  amazement  and  delight 
at  sight  of  it.  The  three-storied  stuc- 
coed brick  mansion,  with  innumerable 
little  balconies  with  wrought-iron  railings 
jutting  from  its  fa9ade,  formed  the  outer 
barrier  of  the  quadrangle.  There  were 
high  inclosing  brick  walls  to  right  and 
left.  A  two-storied  detached  building 
with  wide  in-facing  galleries  ran  across 
the  rear  end.  An  enormous  wistaria- 
vine  covered  the  wall  on  the  left,  and 
reaching  up  a  gnarled  fist  grasped  an 
iron  grille  which  separated  the  upper 
gallery  of  the  rear  wing  from  a  similar 
galleried  building  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wall.  Save  for  this  building,  and  a 
cluster  of  fantastic  purple  dormer-win- 
dowed roofs  high  up  on  the  right,  Noel 
could  see  nothing  which  suggested  the 


51 


teeming  ilet  surrounding  the  sheltered 
garden.  A  fountain  played  in  the  sun- 
shine near  the  centre  of  the  court  ;  two 
tall  moss-grown  cisterns  with  peaked 
covers  stood,  one  behind  the  other,  in 
one  corner  ;  a  Moorish  water-jar  with 
bulging  sides  was  placed  in  the  shade  of  a 
clump  of  bananas  near  the  mouth  of  the 
corridor.  There  were  iron  benches, 
painted  a  vivid  green,  placed  here  and 
there  ;  one  under  an  orange-tree,  another 
beneath  a  pillared  arcade  where  a  Moor- 
ish lamp  hung,  suspended  by  linked  iron 
chains  from  the  ceiling  ;  a  third  almost 
within  the  banana  clump.  The  Septem- 
ber sun  flooded  the  court  with  dazzling 
light  ;  the  air  was  sweet  with  intermingled 
perfumes  ;  there  was  a  hum  of  drowsy 
bees,  a  flutter  of  darting  butterflies,  an 
occasional  crooning  call  from  a  bird 
hidden  somewhere  in  the  dense  foliage. 
Noel  sat  down  on  the  bench  beneath 
the  orange-tree.  She  had  never  seen  an 


52 


orange-tree  —  bearer  of  bridal  blossoms, 
bringer  of  luscious  fruit  !  and  she  re- 
mained ignorantly  indifferent  to  the 
glossy  canopy  above  her  head,  while  her 
eyes  roved  eagerly  about,  taking  note  of 
other  trees  and  shrubs.  A  stately  mag- 
nolia caught  and  held  the  sunlight  on 
its  broad  stiff  leaves  in  a  most  wonder- 
ful fashion.  There  were  a  couple  of 
scraggy  sweet  olives,  which  the  stranger 
disdained,  not  yet  in  touch  with  their 
insignificant  but  precious  tufts  of  yel- 
lowish white  flowers  ;  and  an  opoponax, 
with  feathery  branches  tossing  lightly  in 
the  river  breeze.  A  row  of  crape  myrtle- 
trees  pressed  against  the  south  wall  their 
bushy  spheres  of  crinkled  white  and  red. 
Marvelous  !  Noel  leaned  her  head 
against  the  scarred  trunk  of  the  orange- 
tree.  Narrow  walks  flagged  with  stone 
ran  in  and  out  among  the  luxuriant 
flower-beds.  She  saw,  in  the  soft  si- 
lence, with  wide  open,  dreaming  eyes, 


53 


beautiful  ladies  in  the  powder  and 
patches,  the  hooped  petticoats  and 
red-heeled  slippers  of  a  past  day, 
gliding  about  those  wandering  paths  ; 
they  were  attended  by  cavaliers  in  silken 
coats,  flowered  waistcoats,  and  knee- 
breeches.  La  Reine  Margot,  with  white 
pearls  melting  into  her  white  neck,  came 
after  them,  "  the  most  beautiful  young 
Queen  that  ever  was."  And  with  her, 
why  surely,  Papa  !  She  sat  up,  plea- 
santly excited.  For  here,  beyond  all 
doubt,  was  none  other  than  the  Queen's 
Garden  of  that  old  Fairy  Story  which 
Claude  Lepeyre  had  never  wearied  of 
telling  to  the  child  upon  his  knee  ;  and 
Noel  had  never  wearied  of  hearing. 

Then,  where  was  that  Spanish  dag- 
ger-tree upon  whose  spiked  leaves  the 
Prince  from  Beyond  the  Wall  wrote  his 
name  —  with  the  point  of  his  sword — 
for  a  token  to  La  Reine  Margot  ?  She 
sprang  up  and  looked  around.  The 


54          tEItye  €iuem'$  Garten 

dagger-tree,  which  in  the  Fairy  Story 
"stood  every  which  way  for  Sunday"  was 
huddled  up  against  the  crooked  stair 
leading  up  the  galleried  wing  !  She  flew 
to  it.  It  was  in  bloom  —  out  of  season 
as  often  happens  with  the  dagger- 
tree.  A  great  cone  of  white  bells 
topped  one  of  the  bayoneted  branches. 
The  sunlight  filtering  through  the  trans- 
lucent bells  gave  them  a  cool  water- 
green  look  from  below.  Noel  searched 
breathlessly  among  the  sharp-pointed 
spikes,  hoping  to  find  pricked  upon  one 
of  them,  with  the  point  of  the  Prince's 
sword,  his  token  to  the  Queen.  There 
were  letters  upon  two  or  three  —  old 
rusty  initials,  whose  owners,  Noel 
thought,  must  long  ago  have  perished 
from  the  earth.  She  made  out,  on  one 
thick,  stiff  pike,  the  letters,  A.  G. 
They  had  spread  with  the  growth  of 
the  leaf  into  grotesque  caricatures  of 
letters.  And  they  seemed  to  have 


55 


been  pricked  with  a  blacksmith's  nail, 
rather  than  with  the  point  of  a  Damas- 
cus blade ! 

Noel  abandoned  the  quest.  She 
would  have  plucked  one  of  the  waxen 
green-white  blossoms,  but  the  spears 
rose  formidably  about  them.  "  The 
dagger  guards  his  treasures/'  she  said 
aloud,  nodding  her  head  wisely.  At 
that  moment  a  pape  whirred  past  her 
shoulder  and  darted  into  the  thicket  of 
spears  to  join  his  crooning  mate  there. 

"  Ah,  Love  has  found  out  the  way  !  " 
she  cried  lightly,  as  one  who  has  as  yet 
no  knowledge  —  or  fear  —  of  the  great 
Mystery ;  "  Love  has  found  out  the 
way  ! " 

She  returned  to  her  seat  on  the  iron 
bench.  Wonderful  !  the  old  garden- 
close  !  its  light  and  shade  and  color,  the 
fall  of  its  fountain  spray,  its  silence  and 
repose. 

ff  The  Gate  is  locked  and  the  key  is  lost, 
I  'm  in  this  Lady's  Garden  !  " 


56 


Noel  sang  the  snatch  of  an  old  danse 
en  ronde  at  the  top  of  her  clear  young 
voice  ;  but  checked  herself  with  a  re- 
morseful glance  at  an  upper  window  of 
the  mansion,  where  she  had  caught  a 
fleeting  glimpse  of  a  nurse's  white  cap, 
"  Poor  Tante  Marguerite  !  "  she  sighed 
carelessly. 

"  It  is  like  Beauty  and  the  Beast," 
she  mused  that  night,  standing  before 
the  cheval  glass  again,  and  again  smiling 
at  her  own  white-robed  image  there. 
"  This  is  the  enchanted  Palace.  There 
must  be  a  Prince  commanding  the  in- 
visible spirits  who  cook  my  food,  gather 
flowers  for  my  room,  let  down  the  lace- 
netting  over  my  bed,  and  lay  out  lovely 
new  garments  for  my  wearing  !  I  should 
like  to  tell  my  school-children  at  home 
about  it  all  !  Some  night  I  shall  lay  my 
ring  on  the  dressing-table.  But  not 
yet  ;  oh,  not  yet  !  " 


VII 


THERE  was  a  slip  of  thin  rustly 
paper  tucked  in  the  bunch  of 
white  roses  beside  Noel's  plate 
the  next  morning.  She  read  the  mes- 
sage it  contained,  while  she  sipped  her 
coffee  :  "  Madame  Chretien  finds  herself 
better." 

"  Then  I  sfiall  see  her  soon/'  she 
thought,  with  a  distinct  pang  of  disap- 
pointment. She  was  glad,  certainly, 
that  Madame  Chretien  found  herself 
better.  But  —  she  could  not  define  the 
source  of  that  but  which  all  at  once  made 
her  dejected  and  disquieted.  Her  ap- 
petite vanished.  She  leaned  her  head 
on  her  hand  and  stared  moodily  at  the 
dewy  roses. 

She  arose  impetuously.  "  Can  it  be 
that  I  am  not  glad  that  Tante  Marguer- 


5  8 


ite  is  getting  well  ?  Surely,  it  is  not 
that  I  do  not  wish  to  see  my  dear  father's 
only  sister  !  —  Tante  Marguerite,  who 
has  come  like  an  angel  into  my  starved 
life  !  It  is  not  that  she  is  stern  ;  that 
her  orders  are  of  iron  !  Have  I  not 
had  great-aunt  Harlowe  ?  "  She  laughed 
whimsically  in  spite  of  her  distress. 
"  What  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  "  She  almost 
wrung  her  hands  as  she  asked  herself 
these  questions  which  she  was  quite  un- 
able to  answer.  One  more  experienced 
in  the  psychology  of  the  emotions  would 
have  found  the  solution  readily  enough. 
The  dragon-fly  just  escaped  from  the 
chrysalis  would  have  served  as  an  illus- 
tration —  trying  its  wings  for  the  first 
time,  giddy  with  a  sense  of  freedom,  and 
loath  to  alight  !  But  Noel  had  never 
studied  the  emotions.  She  had  had 
so  few  herself  —  hardly  any,  in  fact,  ex- 
cept a  dumb  acquiescence  in  the  loss  of 
one  benefactor,  and  a  dread  of  the  next  ; 


59 


an  uncomplaining  self-adjustment  to 
new  drudgeries  ;  a  brave  acceptance  of 
new  phases  of  poverty.  Her  escape 
from  the  chrysalis-shell  had  been  too 
sudden  for  instant  realization.  What 
she  desired  —  unconsciously  —  was  a 
short  hour  in  which  to  breathe  and  ex- 
pand a  little  before  creeping  back  into 
the  cramped  envelope  —  for  of  course 
she  must  creep  back  the  moment  an- 
other aunt  appeared  in  bodily  form  ! 

"It  is  because  I  am  selfish  —  pig, 
imbecile,  cabbage-head  of  a  Noel  that  I 
am  !  But  I  will  go  to  her.  Oh,  at 
once  !  I  will  go  to  her  at  once." 

She  rushed  across  the  hall  and  turned 
the  knob  of  the  door  which  barred  the 
way  to  Madame  Chretien's  apartment. 
Her  face  expressed  involuntary  relief. 
The  door  was  locked. 

She  returned  to  the  dining-room  and 
breakfasted  gayly.  "  At  any  rate  it  is 
not  for  to-day,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
reckless  philosophy. 


6o  tflfre  flkueen'g 


A  door,  hitherto  closed,  leading  from 
the  salle-a-manger  into  a  stately  drawing- 
room  stood  open.  It  had  evidently 
been  left  open  purposely.  Noel  stepped 
over  the  threshold  and  halted  for  some 
seconds  trying  to  accustom  her  eyes  to 
the  semi-obscurity  within.  Then  she 
looked  around  eagerly  expecting,  she 
knew  not  what.  A  funereal  atmosphere 
pervaded  the  dim  vastness.  The  an- 
tique furniture,  cumbrous,  obsolete,  and 
handsome,  which  would  have  made  the 
mouth  of  a  collector  water  with  longing 
desire,  repelled  the  country-bred  young 
girl.  The  priceless  pictures  on  the  walls 
were  wellnigh  meaningless  to  her  un- 
educated eyes  ;  great  dark  forest  land- 
scapes, peopled  with  fleeing  nymphs 
and  pursuing  gods  ;  Greek  temples  once 
white,  now  fallen  yellow  and  cracked  on 
their  wooded  heights;  sallow  martyrs, 
blue-mantled  virgins,  sombre  cruci- 
fixions. 


6  1 


A  rumble  of  street  noises  —  the  rattle 
of  wheels  over  uneven  stones,  the  cries 
of  street  venders,  shrill  laughter,  the 
echo  of  high-keyed  voices  —  came  in 
through  the  closed  front  windows. 
Noel  essayed  to  throw  up  a  sash  and 
look  out,  but  all  the  sashes  were  im- 
movable in  their  frames.  She  desisted 
and  brushed  the  dust  from  her  white 
gown.  She  felt,  indeed,  but  a  mild  cu- 
riosity concerning  the  street  as  she  re- 
membered it  —  close,  narrow,  swarming 
with  strange  peoples.  How  long  ago 
it  seemed,  that  Sunday  night  !  How 
remote  her  association  with  Major  John 
Steele,  dear  old  man  ! 

Besides,  the  garden  was  calling  her, 
drawing  her,  wooing  her  to  its  perfumed 
silence,  its  sunlighted  repose  !  She 
picked  up  a  book  which  was  lying  on 
one  of  the  dust-clad  buhl  tables,  and 
went  down  the  stair. 

She  chose  the  bench,  this  time,  which 


62          {Elje  ffliueen'g 


was  shaded  by  the  clump  of  bananas  ; 
and  abutted  on  the  Moorish  jar.  The 
jar,  crossed  by  a  shaft  of  sunlight, 
glistened  many  colored  ;  there  were 
splotches  of  emerald  green  on  its  rounded 
sides,  purple  streaks  around  its  wide 
throat,  yellow  and  red  and  velvety- 
brown  stains  blending  into  each  other 
about  its  huge  shoulders. 

The  banana  leaves  whispered  to  the 
invisible  wind  which  stirred  their  fringed 
edges.  One  perfect  blade,  broad, 
shapely,  and  tenderly  green,  curled  over 
the  mouth  of  the  water-jar  ;  one  closely 
furled,  like  a  banner  on  its  staff,  stood 
up,  stiff  and  motionless,  pointing  to 
the  blue  sky. 

Noel  opened  the  small  gilt-edged 
volume  she  held  in  her  hand.  It  was  a 
copy  of  Moore's  cc  Melodies."  On  the 
fly-leaf  she  found  Madame  Chretien's 
maiden  name,  Marguerite  Lepeyre  ; 
beneath,  the  initials,  A.  G.  ;  and  the 
quotation,  faded  and  almost  illegible  : 


63 


"  Where  a  leaf  never  dies  in  the    still  blooming 

bowers, 
And  the  bee  banquets  on  through  a  whole  year  of 

flowers!" 

She  read  the  lines  with  eyes  and  senses 
drifting  about  the  quiet  courtyard. 
"  Why,  I  remember  that ! "  she  mur- 
mured, suddenly  seizing  a  gossamer 
thread  of  memory.  "In  the  Fairy 
Story  !  It  is  from  the  song  the  Prince 
used  to  sing  to  La  Reine  Margot ! 
And  there  was  a  big-bellied  jar  in  which 
the  Queens  Henchman  used  to  hide,  and 
spring  up  at  her,  and  frighten  her,  when 
she  was  but  a  teensy-weensy  Princess  like 
you.  I  know  this  is  that  jar !  "  She 
jumped  up,  letting  Moore's  "  Melo- 
dies "  tumble  to  the  ground,  and  peeped 
cautiously  into  the  disused  jar,  stand- 
ing on  tiptoe  to  do  so.  A  little  dark 
pool  of  water  in  the  bottom  within  gave 
back  a  reflection  of  her  face  surrounded 
by  its  aureole  of  sunny  hair.  A  spider's 


64 


web,  spun  across  the  top,  held  the  light 
with  its  airy  filaments  and  seemed  a 
mesh  of  silver. 

"  I  suspect  that  the  Queen's  Hench- 
man was  my  father  himself,"  Noel 
mused,  drawing  back,  with  a  finger  on 
her  lip.  The  discovery  pleased  her, 
lending  an  added  charm  to  the  garden 
and  the  half-remembered  Fairy  Story. 
But  who  was  the  Prince  ? 

"  Oh,  and  The  Prince  one  day  threw  a 
red  rose  over  the  wall.  And  the  rose  fell 
at  the  Queens  feet" 

A  rose  vine  clambered  up  a  pillar  of 
the  gallery  on  the  rear  wing  ;  it  reached 
the  second  story,  and  threw  out  long 
swaying  branches  with  reckless  prodi- 
gality ;  but  there  was  only  one  blossom 
in  sight  —  a  great  red  rose,  half-blown, 
which  swung  in  the  breeze  ;  so  red,  so 
high,  so  challenging,  so  beautiful  ! 

Noel  ran  breathlessly  across  the 
garden  up  the  crooked  outer  stair  to  the 


65 


upper  gallery,  and  stretched  out  a 
masterful  hand.  But  even  as  her  fingers 
closed  around  the  coveted  prize,  they 
relaxed  their  grasp,  her  arm  dropped 
nerveless  to  her  side.  She  drew  back. 
Something  had  stirred  the  air  quite  near 
her.  Something  ?  A  sigh !  Not  a 
mere  animal  exhalation.  Not  a  half- 
groan  of  weariness,  as  a  sigh  often  is,  not 
a  satisfied  inspiration ;  not  the  voiceless 
expression  of  despair  —  none  of  these  ! 
A  longing,  passionate,  murmurous  vital 
breath,  —  a  breath  to  be  felt  and  under- 
stood, but  not  described.  Noel  felt  it 
to  the  core  of  her  being.  The  doors 
behind  her  were  shut.  The  batten 
window  blinds  were  fastened.  There 
was  no  more  movement  or  sound 
within  them  than  in  the  great  silent 
mansion  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
garden,  where  the  sick  woman  lay,  and 
her  nurses  and  doctors  came  and  went, 
incessantly,  noiselessly,  anxiously. 


66 


Noel  listened.  The  sigh  was  not 
repeated.  But  she  turned  and  sped 
down  the  crooked  stair,  leaving  the  red 
rose  on  its  stem. 

"  It  must  have  been  the  Beast  !  "  she 
laughed,  with  her  hand  on  her  heart. 

She  returned  to  her  garden  seat.  But 
a  change  —  a  change  mysterious,  inscru- 
table, undefinable,  had  come  over  the 
garden  ;  into  the  sunshine,  upon  the 
flower-beds,  the  trees,  the  whispering 
banana  leaves,  the  falling  spray  of  the 
fountain  !  She  felt  herself  suddenly 
alone  ;  a  desire  for  companionship  pos- 
sessed her;  a  sick  longing  seized  her 
which  seemed  to  turn  all  her  body,  now 
hot,  now  cold. 

All  night  long  she  tossed  on  her  bed 
enveloped  in  fevered  dreams,  —  strange, 
unaccountable  dreams.  She  awoke 
from  time  to  time,  trembling  and  shiver- 
ing, yet  smiling  vaguely.  Once,  she 
started  up  half  asleep,  stretching  out  her 


67 


white  arms  to  the  white  moonlight  which 
fell  across  her  pillow,  and  murmuring  : 

The  Prince  threw  a  red  rose  over  the 
wall. 

And  it  fell  at  the  Queens  feet. 


VIII 


MADAME  Chretien  finds  her- 
self better." 
Noel  laid  down  the  little 
slip  of  rustly  paper ;  then  took  it  up 
again  thoughtfully.  Precisely  the  same 
message  as  that  of  yesterday  ;  the  same 
measured  bit  of  paper ;  the  same  fine, 
old-fashioned  handwriting.  How  was 
it  possible  that  she  had  not  sooner  re- 
cognized that  handwriting  ?  Yes,  Tante 
Marguerite  must  have  written  these 
messages  herself  when  she  felt  the  fever 
creeping  into  her  veins.  She  had  given 
them  to  Marcelle  with  the  other  mi- 
nute instructions  —  to  be  laid  before 
her,  Noel,  daily  !  She  divined  it  all  in 
one  of  those  flashes  which  illuminate  the 
dark  places.  Something  had  sharpened 
her  spiritual  insight ;  a  sigh  had  blown 


69 


open  her  soul  as  the  wind  lays  bare  the 
core  of  a  rose  ! 

A  wave  of  tenderness  overwhelmed 
her.  She  flew  again  to  the  forbidding 
door,  and  rapped  upon  it,  softly,  en- 
treatingly ;  then  louder,  insistently. 
She  wept  when  no  response  came  —  ex- 
cept an  echo  which  was  like  a  ghostly 
groan.  She  no  longer  wished  to  delay 
her  meeting  with  that  dear  sister  of  her 
dead  father.  She  was  impatient  to  kneel 
by  the  bedside,  to  lay  the  beloved  head 
against  her  own  strong,  young  shoulders. 
The  yellow  fever?  But  why  should 
she  be  afraid  ?  She,  who  had  never 
known  an  ache  or  a  pain  in  her  life ! 
"  Marcelle  !  Marcelle  !  "  she  called 
vainly.  "  Let  me  in." 

She  returned  to  the  dining-room  to 
scan  the  message  yet  again.  "  Madame 
Chretien  finds  herself  better/'  "  Per- 
haps, after  all,  she  has  written  it  this 
morning,"  she  suggested  to  herself 


70          tEM)e  ^ueen'tf  Garten 

hopefully.  "  She  is  better ;  I  shall  see 
her  soon.  I  shall  see  her  to-morrow  !  " 
She  clung  nervously  to  this  hope. 
She  was  used  indeed,  since  her  father's 
death,  to  being  much  alone.  She  could 
remember  long  days  at  great-aunt 
Harlowe's,  when  she  played  ladies, 
alone,  afraid  to  whisper  in  a  corner  of 
the  musty  old  house,  lest  the  gray-faced 
old  woman,  dozing  in  an  armchair  up- 
stairs should  awake  to  scold.  Under 
the  reign  of  step-aunt  Mitchell,  she  had 
dwelt,  inwardly  at  least,  in  a  world  apart 
from  her  dull  surroundings.  Until  now 
there  had  somehow  seemed  nothing 
strange  or  unnatural  in  her  present  iso- 
lation. Nay,  she  had  reveled  in  it ; 
she  had  desired  a  moment  since  to  pro- 
long it !  But  she  was  all  at  once  op- 
pressed by  the  loneliness,  the  solitude 
and  silence.  This  was  the  third  day 
since  she  had  looked  into  a  human  face. 
Hardly  a  sound  of  human  life  during 


that  time  had  fallen  upon  her  ears. 
Afterward  she  learned  that  there  was  a 
side  court  with  a  separate  entrance  from 
the  street  to  the  other  part  of  the  house; 
a  small  stairway  by  which  the  physicians 
came  and  went.  Old  Marcelle  slipped 
in  and  out  of  the  infected  apartment 
like  a  shadow ;  choosing  the  hours  when 
Noel  was  sleeping,  or  sitting  in  the  gar- 
den, to  fulfill  the  charge  imposed  upon 
her  of  caring  for  the  physical  comfort 
of  Madame  Chretien's  new-found  trea- 
sure. Doctor  Grafton,  lifelong  friend 
and  family  physician,  took  note  of  the 
young  stranger  from  the  windows  of  the 
sick-room ;  it  was  he  indeed  who  had 
warned  her  from  the  stair-landing  the 
morning  after  her  arrival.  His  patient, 
through  his  watchful  eyes,  had  followed 
her  movements  from  time  to  time  about 
the  sunny  close  below  —  "  Claude's 
daughter  !  Claude's  daughter  !  "  The 
cry  was  ever  upon  the  sick  woman's  lips. 


72  {ro&e  ^uem'tf  Garten 

But  Noel  could  not  know  this  ;  nor 
that  the  city  itself,  girdled  by  a  fast 
narrowing  cordon  of  quarantine,  was 
scorching  in  the  breath  of  the  pestilence  ; 
she  felt  only  the  unbroken  solitude ; 
she  heard  only  —  a  sigh  ! 

She  picked  up  the  fat  little  Moore 
from  the  flagstones  where  it  had  lain 
forgotten  through  the  night.  The 
crumpled  leaves  were  soaked  with  dew ; 
the  covers  were  swollen  and  distorted. 
She  regarded  it  remorsefully  a  moment, 
then  hastened  to  the  bench  beneath 
the  orange-tree,  and  placed  it,  open,  in 
the  warm  sunshine  to  dry.  "  Care- 
less Noel,"  she  apostrophized  herself 
sternly. 

But  her  remorse  dissolved  in  the 
transport  of  a  new  sensation.  Looking 
idly  up  into  the  thick  boughs  above  her 
head,  she  saw  —  oranges  !  They  hung 
among  the  clustering  leaves  like  so  many 


73 


green  and  gold  lanterns.  She  touched 
one  with  the  tip  of  an  up-stretched 
finger,  thus  putting  herself  into  com- 
munication with  far-off  islands  of  citron 
and  spice,  of  lithe  brown  lads  and 
slender,  large-hipped  girls,  —  the  land 
of  the  pomegranate  and  the  nightingale, 
the  land  of  the  Thousand  and  One 
Nights,  the  land  of  the  wonderful  Fairy 
Story. 

Another  touch  transformed  her  into 
an  inquisitive  Eve.  She  looked  cau- 
tiously around,  up  at  the  window  which 
she  had  rightly  divined  to  be  the  win- 
dow of  Madame  Chretien's  bedchamber, 
and  over  toward  the  vine-clad  gallery 
of  the  wing,  where  a  single  full-blown 
red  rose  swayed  in  the  breeze  ;  then  she 
detached  one  of  the  green  and  gold 
lanterns,  quickly  and  stealthily.  It 
smelled  divinely  ;  but  alas,  it  was  fright- 
fully sour.  She  hastened  with  puckered 
lips  to  the  fountain  to  wash  the  green 


74          Wqt 


stain  of  the  rind  from  her  fingers,  and 
the  unripe  flavor  of  the  pulp  from  her 
lips. 

The  circular  basin  was  ringed  with 
wide-leaved  caladiums  ;  water  hyacinths 
grew  in  the  pool,  their  pale  blue  pyra- 
mids of  blossom  reflected  on  its  glassy 
surface.  Some  goldfish  swam  lazily  in 
and  out  among  their  tangled  roots. 

A  marble  Cupid,  a-tiptoe  on  a  broad 
pedestal,  guarded  the  fountain.  His 
wings  were  partly  folded  ;  his  chubby 
hands,  outstretched,  held  the  fluted 
shell  from  which  the  water  leaped  in  the 
air  and  fell  in  a  musical  rainbow  shower 
into  the  basin  below.  Noel  regarded 
him  critically,  as  she  dried  her  hands  on 
her  pocket  handkerchief.  "  You  were 
not  in  the  Fairy  Story,"  she  said  finally, 
addressing  him  gravely  ;  "  therefore  I 
question  your  right  to  be  in  this  garden 
at  all.  But  you  must  have  been  here  a 
long  time,  or  led  a  very  disreputable 


75 


life.  For  you  look  as  forlorn  and  be- 
draggled as  a  prairie  tramp.  Your  face 
is  dirty.  How  dare  you  have  a  dirty 
face,  sir  ? " 

Cupid's  outblown  cheeks  were  green 
with  mould  and  mildew.  Dust  had 
settled  in  his  eyes  and  in  the  corners  of 
his  mouth ;  the  spray  blown  across  his 
head  had  made  a  muddy  paste  there 
which  plastered  his  breezy  curls ;  a 
slimy  moss  hung  pendent,  like  an  at- 
tenuated beard,  from  his  dimpled  chin. 
"You  are  disgraceful,  positively  dis- 
graceful," continued  Noel,  stepping 
back  to  admonish  him  with  uplifted 
forefinger.  "You  have  no  business  in 
this  garden.  But,  since  you  are  here, 
why  I  am  going  to  wash  your  face." 

She  dipped  her  handkerchief  in  the 
water,  and  steadying  herself  on  the  stone 
coping  of  the  basin,  she  tubbed  the 
marble  figure  with  the  Saturday  night 
vigor  of  an.  ebon  materfamilias.  It  was 


76          tEfo  flkueen'g  flaroen 

a  labor  of  some  moments  ;  and  she  was 
quite  red  in  the  face  when  she  had 
finished  her  self-appointed  task,  and 
held  her  victim  at  arm's  length,  proudly 
surveying  the  effect.  He  returned  her 
look  with  such  merry  cocksure  eyes, 
his  fresh  cheeks  were  so  fat,  his  mouth 
so  roguish,  his  clean  curls  so  jaunty,  his 
half-folded  wings  so  jimp,  his  whole 
bearing  so  saucily  impudent,  that  she 
burst  into  an  involuntary  laugh. 

The  laughter,  gay,  girlish,  and  infec- 
tious, rang  through  the  court.  It  blended 
unexpectedly  with  another  laugh  which 
was  irrepressibly  responsive  —  and  mas- 
culine. Noel  looked  hastily  up,  and  then 
as  quickly  down,  startled  and  abashed. 

A  young  man  was  standing  on  the 
upper  gallery  of  the  building  adjoining 
the  rear  wing  and  on  the  other  side  of 
the  brick  wall.  His  figure  was  partly 
concealed  by  the  leafy  sprays  of  the 
wistaria,  but  Noel,  in  one  swift  glance, 


77 


had  remarked  that  the  curls  clustering 
on  his  white  forehead  were  dark.  His 
eyes  were  also  dark  ;  the  slight  mustache 
shading  his  upper  lip  was  brown.  His 
face  was  young  and  frank,  with  a  hint 
of  authority  in  the  square  chin  and  firm 
lips. 

Noel  stumbled  rather  than  stepped 
from  her  perch,  barely  escaping  a  tumble 
into  the  pool  ;  and  tossing  her  bare  head 
in  sign  of  contempt,  or  indifference, 
marched  off  into  the  house  without 
vouchsafing  a  second  glance  at  the  in- 
truder ;  for  she  so  characterized  him,  al- 
though he  stood  on  his  own  side  of  the 
iron  grille  and  merely  looked  —  and 
laughed  !  —  down  into  his  neighbor's 
garden. 

Was  she  really  contemptuous  ?  Was 
she  really  indifferent  ?  She  did  not  her- 
self know.  She  sat  down  in  the  high- 
backed  chair  in  her  own  room  ;  her 
knees  trembling  from  the  hurry  of  her 


78 


flight  up  the  stair.  But  she  got  up  im- 
mediately and  stole  to  the  arched  window 
in  the  hall  whence  she  could  see  the 
courtyard  far  below,  aglow  with  the 
afternoon  sunshine.  Alas,  a  small  oc- 
tagonal tower-like  bay-window  with  coni- 
cal roof,  which  clung  to  the  lower  hall,  — 
heretofore  an  object  of  unmeasured  ad- 
miration, —  hid  the  corner  of  the  gallery 
over  the  way  where  the  laugher  had 
stood.  "  Ugly,  useless,  ridiculous  little 
turret  !  "  pouted  Noel,  returning,  baffled, 
to  her  high-backed  chair.  "  Besides, 
how  dared  he  laugh  !  Impudent  crea- 
ture !  I  will  never  go  into  the  garden 
again.  No.  Never  ! 


IX 


I  WILL  never  go  into  the  garden 
again/'  she  repeated  the  next 
day. 

The  slip  of  rustly  paper,  neatly  folded 
as  usual  and  bearing  the  same  cheerful 
message,  was  in  its  accustomed  place. 
She  read  it,  listening  for  the  messenger 
who  should  summon  her  to  the  writer. 
"  For,  I  shall  see  her  to-day,  I  know," 
she  thought,  adding  irrelevantly,  "  I 
wonder  if  the  Prince  had  dark  hair  !  " 

But  no  messenger  appeared,  and  the 
morning  wore  slowly  away.  In  an  ac- 
cess of  impatience,  she  pushed  open  a 
door  within  the  curtained  alcove,  fancy- 
ing it  might  lead  somewhere,  to  some- 
body !  to  something  which  might  re- 
lieve the  monotony  of  waiting ;  or  bring 
forgetfulness  of  the  wooing  garden ! 


8o  tElje  iiueen^  Garten 


She  found  herself  in  a  small  room, 
quite  evidently  the  boudoir  of  Madame 
Chretien.  There  was  a  lounge,  an  easy- 
chair,  a  carved  work-table  with  twisted 
legs.  A  bit  of  embroidery,  with  the 
needle  trailing  from  it  by  a  strand  of 
purple  silk,  was  lying  on  the  table  as  if 
the  worker  had  just  laid  it  down.  The 
femininity  of  the  place  appealed  to 
Noel.  "  Oh,  I  shall  love  her  !  I  shall 
love  her  !  "  she  exclaimed  aloud  passion- 
ately. 

There  were  several  portraits  on  the 
walls.  One  of  these  was  Madame 
Chretien  herself,  a  few  years  older  than 
when  she  sat,  Mademoiselle  Marguerite 
Lepeyre,  in  white  satin  and  pearls,  to  a 
great  French  painter.  She  wore  the 
same  cordon  of  pearls  around  her  beau- 
tiful bare  neck.  Her  slender  arm  en- 
circled the  shoulders  of  a  child,  a  little 
boy  whose  golden  locks  glistened  like 
sunbeams  against  the  wine  red  of  her 


8t 


velvet  gown.  Her  dark  eyes  were 
fixed  with  brooding  tenderness  upon  the 
glowing  young  face  lifted  to  hers.  Her 
son  !  Noel's  heart  stirred  as  she  re- 
membered old  Marcelle's  words,  "  At 
the  cradle,  at  the  schoolroom,  at  the 
marriage,  at  the  death  of  M'sieu,  her 
husband,  at  the  tomb  of  her  only  son  !  " 

And  the  high-featured,  hook-nosed 
old  gentleman  opposite,  blue-eyed,  gray- 
haired,  stern,  and  imperious  ?  "  Anatole 
Thierry  Chretien  de  la  Vigne,"  declared 
the  lettering  carved  on  the  foot  of  the 
costly  frame.  Was  that  the  husband  of 
La  Reine  Margot  ?  Oh,  impossible  ! 

"  But,  who  then  was  the  Prince  ? " 
demanded  Noel  of  La  Reine  Margot 
herself,  returning  to  the  dining-room  to 
put  the  question  to  the  pictured  Queen 
there.  Mademoiselle  Lepeyre  smiled 
down  at  her  significantly,  guarding  her 
secret. 

"  I   shall    never  go  into  the   garden 


82          Wqt  fflluem'g 


again/'  reiterated  Noel,  turning  discon- 
solately away.  And  immediately  went. 
A  furtive  examination  assured  her 
that  there  was  no  one  beyond  the  vine- 
hung  grille.  She  paced  sedately  about 
the  walks,  stopping  to  pick  up  Moore, 
forgotten  (again  !)  upon  the  bench.  He 
was  now  swollen  out  of  all  proportion. 
"  How  could  I  be  so  forgetful  !  But  it 
was  not  my  fault.  Insolent  —  person  !  " 
The  last  words  referred,  not  to  the 
puffed-up  Poet,  but  to  the  Man  who 
Laughed.  She  spread  the  limp  pages 
once  more  to  the  sun  ;  they  had  fallen 
apart,  as  if  recovering  some  long-gone 
habit,  at  the  place,  margin-marked, 
whence  A.  G.  had  drawn  his  quotation  : 

"  Where  a  leaf  never  dies  in    the    still  blooming 

bowers, 
And  the  bee  banquets  on  through  a  whole  year  o 

flowers." 

"  How   could    I    do    it  !  "    repeated 
Noel  tenderly. 


83 


She  strolled  to  the  fountain  to  inspect 
her  work  of  the  day  before.  She  had 
hardly  begun,  however,  when  some  ob-. 
ject  came  flying  through  the  air  with  a 
whizzing  sound  and  lighted  plump  on 
Cupid's  head.  The  aim  was  well  taken. 
The  wreath  of  red  roses,  awkwardly 
made  and  somewhat  wilted,  rested  grace- 
fully on  the  god's  breezy  curls.  One 
drooping  bud  hung  over  his  forehead  ; 
he  peered  out  from  beneath  it  with 
laughter-brimmed  eyes.  A  rose  petal 
or  two  had  blown  into  Noel's  face ; 
they  fluttered  gently  down  and  rested 
on  her  bosom. 

The  audacious  young  man,  standing 
in  the  galleried  nook  where  she  had 
first  seen  him,  grasped  a  bar  of  the  iron 
grille  and  leaned  forward.  "  My  name," 
he  said  in  a  low  but  distinct  voice,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  Cupid,  as  if  he  ad- 
dressed that  chubby  deity,  —  "  my  name 
is  Richard  Strong.  I  have  no  need  to 


84          Wqt  £Rueen^  Garten 

ask  the  young  lady's  name.  It  is  Noel 
Lepeyre." 

She  had  not  deigned  to  lift  her 
bowed  head  since  her  first  swift  stealthy 
glance.  Now,  she  stared  up  at  the 
speaker  in  frowning  surprise.  He  had 
drawn  back  into  the  shadow  of  the 
sheltering  wistaria ;  she  stood  irresolute  ; 
but  her  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her 
indignation.  She  had  to  walk  around 
a  rose-covered  lattice,  in  order  to  see 
him.  "  How  did  you  find  out  my 
name  ?  "  she  demanded  in  a  tone  which 
struggled  between  haughty  reproof  and 
childish  wonder. 

In  reply  he  held  up  her  pocket 
handkerchief — the  flimsy  square  of 
lawn  with  which  she  had  polished 
Cupid's  face.  It  had  her  name  in  full 
in  one  corner,  —  wrought,  perhaps,  by 
Madame  Chretien's  loving  fingers. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  how  did  you  get 
it  ?  How  dare  you  keep  it !  " 


85 


"  Has  not  Cupid  wings  ?  "  he  laughed, 
nodding  down  at  the  rose-crowned  Boy. 
"And  does  he  not  fly  by  moonlight? 
As  to  keeping  what  he  brings  —  I  have 
had  until  this  moment  no  conscience ; 
but  if  Miss  Lepeyre  wishes  her  pro- 
perty"—  He  made  as  though  he  would 
cast  it  at  her  feet,  contriving  to  flaunt  its 
ragged  folds,  for  the  scrubbing  process 
had  been  exacting. 

Upon  this,  Noel  laughed,  though 
still  pouting  a  little.  "Oh,  keep  it!" 
she  said  carelessly.  "It  is  not  worth  re- 
turning." 

Richard  thrust  it  into  his  vest  pocket 
with  alacrity.  "  Thank  you.  Oh,  stay  !  " 
he  entreated,  for  she  was  walking 
away.  "That  wreath  of  roses,  you 
know  "  — 

"  Did  you  make  it  yourself? "  she 
paused  to  inquire  with  a  peep  around 
the  lattice  at  Cupid,  and  a  little  girlish 
le. 


86          Slie  Queen's  Garten 


"Yes.  And  I  pricked  my  fingers 
well  into  the  bargain.  Is  it  not  a  work 
of  art  ?  You  see  I  wished  to  celebrate 
Love's  "  — 

"  Scrubbing,"  suggested  Noel 
promptly. 

"  We-11,  the  word  will  suffice  for 
the  moment,"  he  answered  with  a  smile 
which  brought  a  flaming  red  into  her 
cheeks.  She  turned  her  back  resolutely. 
But  oh,  it  was  so  heavenly  to  hear  the 
sound  of  a  human  voice  once  more  ; 
any  voice  !  She  lingered  still,  screened 
by  the  high  rose-lattice,  to  ask  over  her 
shoulder,  "Is  there  a  garden  there,  on 
your  side  of  the  wall  ?  " 

He  made  a  grimace.  "  Not  much  ! 
There  may  have  been,  once  on  a  time, 
now  that  you  mention  it.  There  is  a 
fountain  in  the  court  which  does  not 
play  ;  and  a  broken-nosed  cherub  watch- 
ing over  its  rusty  pipes.  By  Jove,  I  'd 
like  to  see  the  daring  mortal  who  would 


87 


undertake  to  get  the  dust  and  grime  of 
ages  off  his  face  !  "  He  laughed,  look- 
ing contemptuously  down  at  the  figure 
in  question.  "  And  there  are  some 
forlorn  patches  which  may  once  have 
been  flower-beds.  But  it  is  mostly  a 
dumping-ground  for  dirt  and  rubbish,  — 
this  courtyard  on  my  side  of  the  wall. 
That  is  why  I  love  to  look  over  on 
your  side  —  I  mean  that  is  partly  why." 

"  Marchez,  mes  enfants  !  Br-r-r ! 
Comment  £a  va  !  Git  out !  "  shouted  a 
hoarse,  abrupt  voice.  It  was  only  a  red- 
headed parrot  sitting  in  a  dormer-win- 
dow high  up  among  the  purple  roofs. 
But  Noel  dipped  her  head  and  flew 
along  the  paths,  up  the  stairway  and 
into  her  room,  frightened  and  mystified. 

Richard  shook  his  fist  at  the  red- 
headed parrot,  with  whose  tricks  he  was 
already  acquainted,  and  withdrew  slowly 
from  the  vine-hung  corner. 


X 


THERE  were  no  flowers  on  the 
breakfast-table  Friday  morning, 
though  Madame  Chretien  con- 
tinued in  her  precise  handwriting  to 
find  herself  better.  Noel  was  vaguely 
alarmed.  She  was  sure  she  heard  hur- 
ried tramplings  and  uneasy  whispering 
beyond  the  inexorable  partition-wall. 
She  put  out  her  hand  more  than  once 
to  grasp  the  old-fashioned  tasseled  bell- 
rope  which  hung  near  her  chair.  But 
she  was  sufficiently  experienced  in  nurs- 
ing the  sick  to  know  that  any  sudden 
sound  might  be  fatal  to  the  patient,  and 
she  refrained.  She  roamed  restlessly 
about  the  sombre  parlors  and  lingered 
a  while  in  the  boudoir  —  pathetic  in  its 
smiling  solitude.  She  reproached  her- 
self for  having  talked  lightly,  and  with 


jfrfrag 89 

a  stranger !  while  her  aunt  was  lying 
yonder  ill  —  perhaps,  even  unto  death. 
She  blushed  guiltily  at  the  remembrance 
of  her  hurried  visit  at  midnight  to  the 
moonlighted  court,  to  snatch  the  fading 
chaplet  from  Cupid's  head,  and  creep 
stealthily  back  to  her  bedchamber,  hid- 
ing it  in  her  arms.  "  I  will  throw  those 
dreadful  roses  away !  How  dared  he 
keep  my  handkerchief!  How  dared  he 
insult  me  with  his  absurd  stories  about 
—  about  Cupid !  .  .  .  I  will  never  go 
into  that  garden  again  !  " 

She  held  to  this  resolution  fiercely, 
until  late  in  the  afternoon,  sitting  ob- 
stinately in  her  high-backed  chair  with 
an  illuminated  "  Livre  d'Heures"  on 
her  knee,  her  hands  clasped  idly  upon 
the  open  page. 

At  nightfall  she  descended  the  stair. 
She  found  a  seat  in  an  angle  of  the 
garden-wall,  whence  she  could  not  see 
the  reproachful  window  of  the  sick- 


90          Wqt  £hiem's 


room,  and  where  the  wistaria  shut  off 
a  view  of  the  grille  and  the  obnoxious 
gallery-nook.  She  sat  with  her  elbow 
on  her  knee  and  her  chin  in  her  palm, 
staring  absently  at  an  ugly,  odd-looking, 
angular  plant  growing  in  a  bed  near  by. 
There  was  a  single  monster  flower-bud 
on  the  plant,  set  upon  a  pink  up-curved 
stem  ;  a  sheath-like  calyx  of  soft  pinky 
spikes  enveloped  the  bud,  the  points 
pressed  flat  against  its  shapely  oval. 
Noel  gradually  became  conscious  that 
some  change  was  taking  place  within 
this  sheath  ;  she  leaned  forward,  instantly 
alert.  As  she  looked,  the  unfolding 
points  lifted  themselves  one  by  one,  and 
curled  slowly  outward,  until  from  apex 
to  base  the  bud  was  guarded  by  a  pha- 
lanx of  rosy  spears.  Then  an  almost 
imperceptible  movement,  a  trembling 
as  of  some  divine  forecast,  passed  over 
the  bud  ;  the  calyx  parted  a  little,  and  a 
snow-white  gleam  appeared,  just  visible 


jfrtoag 91 

in  the  moonlight,  which  suddenly  filled 
the  close.  And  then,  for  a  long  time  — 
or  so  it  seemed  to  Noel,  brooding  over 
the  bud  —  nothing  happened.  The 
thick,  clumsy  leaves  of  the  plant  stirred 
sluggishly  in  the  night  breeze,  but  the 
bud  remained  motionless  on  its  up- 
curved,  luminous  stem. 

"  I  wonder  what  it  is  !  "  murmured 
the  absorbed  watcher  at  length. 

"  It  is  a  night-blooming  cereus," 
said  a  voice  close  to  her  ear.  "  And  we 
shall  see  the  miracle  of  its  blooming  to- 
gether, Noe  —  Miss  Lepeyre." 

Noel  started  violently  at  the  touch  of 
his  hand  on  hers,  but  she  did  not  cry 
out  affrighted,  as  he  doubtless  had  feared 
she  might. 

"  How  did  you  come  ? "  she  asked 
gravely,  standing  up  and  facing  him  in 
the  white  moonlight. 

"  c  Love  found  out  the  way/ '  he 
quoted  lightly. 


92          tTOtie  Hueen'S 


"  But  you,  at  least,  have  no  wings," 
she  objected,  shaking  her  head,  and 
smiling. 

"  Well,  I  at  least  did  not  need  them," 
he  returned  gayly.  "  It  would  be  better 
indeed  if  Master  Cupid  did  not  have 
wings,"  he  added,  as  an  afterthought. 
"In  that  case  he  could  not  fly  away, 
as  they  say  he  sometimes  does,  though 
I  for  one  do  not  believe  it." 

"  Never  mind  about  Cupid,"  she  said 
hastily.  "  Tell  me  truly  how  you  came. 
Not  by  the  great  street-door  with  the 
grinning  knocker  upon  it  ?  That,  I 
know,  is  barred  and  bolted  and  double- 
locked.  For  I  have  been  down  the 
corridor  to  see." 

"  No  ;  not  by  that  door.  Not  by 
any  door.  The  truth  is  —  Look 
yonder,  where  the  wistaria-vine  catches 
and  clasps  the  iron  grille."  He  drew  her 
a  few  paces  forward.  "It  must  be  a 
hundred  years  old,  that  wistaria  !  The 


jfritmg 93 

vine  has  the  girth  of  my  body.  Well, 
I  stepped  up  on  the  railing  of  my  gallery, 
caught  the  grille  with  one  hand,  set  a 
foot  out  upon  the  gnarled  twist  of  that 
old  vine,  swung  myself  around,  and 
dropped  down  upon  your  gallery  —  the 
gallery  where  you  came,  once  on  a  time, 
to  pluck  a  rose,  and  did  not !  Why  did 
you  run  away  from  that  rose  ?  " 

"  And  then  ?  "  demanded  Noel,  ignor- 
ing the  question. 

"Then  I  slipped  down  the  stair, 
glided  across  the  court,  and  found  you. 
Is  that  exact  enough,  Miss  Noel  Le- 
peyre?" 

"  So  !  "  cried  Noel,  clasping  her  hands 
in  sudden  excitement;  "you  came  by 
Claude's  Way  !  " 

Richard  looked  mystified.  "  Claude's 
Way,"  he  echoed. 

"  Yes.  That  is  the  way,  you  know, 
by  which  the  Prince  used  to  come.  I 
remember  now !  To  see  La  Reine 


94  Wqt  farm's  Garten 

Margot,  in  her  garden  —  this  garden  ! 
They  called  it  c  Claude's  Way/  I  do 
not  know  why.  But  my  father  was  the 
Queen's  Henchman."  Richard  listened 
with  but  indifferent  interest  to  this  in- 
coherent outburst.  He  was  devouring 
her  face  with  his  eyes,  —  the  beautiful, 
pale,  sensitive  face !  When  she  ceased 
speaking,  he  repeated  mechanically, 
"The  Queen's  Henchman  !  " 

But  when  she  began  to  tell  him  the 
Fairy  Story  —  the  story  of  the  young 
Queen,  and  of  the  Prince  who  was  for- 
bidden under  pain  of  death  to  speak  to 
his  Love  ;  or  even  so  much  as  to  look 
at  her,  with  all  the  world,  when  she 
rode  abroad,  lovely  and  gracious,  in  her 
state  coach  ;  or  when  she  danced  with 
her  royal  partners  at  the  court  balls  — 
Richard  led  Noel  back  to  her  seat  and 
placed  himself  beside  her  to  listen. 
"He  was  forbidden  ever  to  approach 
La  Reine  Margot,  the  Prince  was," 


95 


said  Noel,  "  but  he  came  by  c  Claude's 
Way  '  into  her  garden/' 

"  Like  myself,"  interrupted  Richard. 

"  But  the  Prince  came  many  times," 
cried  Noel  ;  and  bethinking  herself, 
flushed  rosy  red  in  the  moonshine. 

"  True,"  said  Richard  boldly  ;  "  and 
so  shall  I  come  many  times  !  And  the 
Prince  and  the  Queen  lived  happily 
ever  after,  of  course  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  faltered,  "  I  fear  that  they 
did  not.  Something  happened.  My 
father  never  told  me  what  happened. 
But  the  Prince  ceased  to  come  by 
c  Claude's  Way  ;  '  and  the  Queen  mar- 
ried a  wicked  and  hard  old  King  with 
blue  eyes.  And  the  Henchman  quitted 
her  service  and  went  away  ;  and  he 
never  saw  her  again,  though  he  loved 
her  always." 

"And  the  Prince?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  became  of  the 
Prince."  She  sighed  unconsciously. 


96          Wqt 


"  I  know/'  said  Richard  in  a  very 
low  voice.  "He  died.  That  is  what 
I  should  do,  if"  — 

"  The  Henchman  was  my  father/' 
Noel  went  on  hurriedly,  "  and  he  is 
dead.  And  La  Reine  Margot  is  my 
aunt.  She  is  ill  yonder  in  her  room  ; 
and  I  have  never  seen  her,"  she  con- 
cluded forlornly. 

"  The  white-haired  old  lady  who  lives 
here  ?  "  asked  Richard. 

"  But  !  She  is  not  old  !  "  cried  Noel 
indignant.  "  How  can  you  say  that  !  " 

"  I  saw  you/'  he  said,  putting  the 
criticism  aside,  "  the  day  you  first  came 
into  this  court.  You  came  along  the 
walk  just  as  I  looked  over  the  grille.  I 
have  looked  over  here  for  many  months, 
you  know,  every  morning." 

"  Because  of  the  dreariness  and  the 
ugliness  of  the  courtyard  on  your  side 
of  the  wall/'  she  interpolated. 

"  Because  of  my  mother/'  he  said 
softly,  "  who  used  to  love  flowers,  and 


97 


tended  them  in  our  old  plantation  rose- 
garden  up  the  river  ;  and  who  is  dead." 

"  Oh  !  "  breathed  Noel  in  a  tender 
voice. 

"  I  used  to  watch  the  white-haired 
old  lady  —  who  is  not  old  !  —  walk- 
ing about  this  garden,  leaning  upon 
the  arm  of  a  high-turbaned  old  negro 
woman  "  — 

"  Marcelle,"    murmured  Noel. 

—  "  or  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  shade. 
Lately,  she  has  held  a  letter  in  her  hand 
which  she  has  kissed  many  times  and 
read  over  and  over  to  her  old  servant." 

"  Could  that  be  my  letter  ?  "  queried 
Noel  under  her  breath. 

"  One  day  she  did  not  come  into  the 
courtyard  at  the  usual  hour;  perhaps 
she  did  not  come  at  all.  But  the  next 
morning  —  you  came." 

He  was  silent  a  moment.  "  Oh,  oh, 
the  bud  is  quivering  !  "  cried  Noel  as 
he  opened  his  lips  to  speak  again. 
"  What  is  going  to  happen  ?  " 


XI 


€£e  tflotoet 

THEY  bent  forward  together, 
their  locks  —  the  dark  and  the 
blond  —  intermingling,  and 
watched  the  bud.  An  almost  imper- 
ceptible quiver  ran  along  the  stem  ;  the 
invisible  bonds  about  the  calyx  loosened 
yet  more ;  the  tiny  spear-points  curled 
outward  and  fell  away,  revealing  a  glim- 
mer as  of  gold  in  an  ivory  chalice. 

"  It  is  about  to  come  into  bloom," 
Noel  said  in  an  awed  whisper. 

"  You  had  on  a  white  frock,  as  you 
have  now,"  Strong  continued,  turning 
to  her  again.  cc  Your  head  was  bare ; 
your  hair  shimmered  like  sunlight  under 
sunlight.  You  trod  the  paths  lightly, 
as  if  your  feet  scarcely  touched  the 
ground.  I  held  my  breath  looking  at 
you,  for  I  feared  from  moment  to  mo- 


IFiotoer  99 


ment,  that  you  might  vanish  from  my 
sight.  I  could  not  see  your  face  at 
first;  but  you  looked  up  at  the  yucca 
bells,  and  I  saw  it !  I  wonder,  Noel,  if 
you  know  how  beautiful  you  are  !  I 
heard  your  voice  when  the  pape  flew 
into  the  dagger-tree.  c  Love  has  found 
out  the  way/  you  said.  You  have  the 
sweetest  voice,  Noel,  that  I  have  ever 
heard  !  I  have  been  watching  you  from 
behind  that  grille  ever  since.  Why 
have  you  delayed  so  long  your  coming  ? 
Where  were  you  before  ?  And  why  are 
you  always  alone  ?  " 

She  told  him  of  herself,  orphaned  and 
lonely  for  so  many  years ;  of  the  pale, 
frail  young  mother  —  who  died  ;  of  the 
passionately  loved  father  —  who  died ; 
the  guardians  who  had  come  into  and 
passed  out  of  her  life.  She  described 
the  little  country  school  and  the  shock- 
headed  school-children ;  and  second 
cousin  Louisa,  with  her  lopsided  buggy  ! 


ioo         Wqt  &uem'$  Garten 


of  her  own  timid  letter  to  the  hitherto 
undreamed-of  sister  of  her  father,  and 
of  Madame  Chretien's  letter  in  reply. 

"  And  so  I  came  at  last  to  this  house 
where  my  father  was  born  ;  and  to  this 
garden  where  he  used  to  play  when  he 
was  a  little  boy.  He  has  described  it 
to  me  a  thousand  times  over  in  that  old 
Fairy  Story  which  we  both  loved  so. 
Is  it  not  wonderful  ?  But  I  have  not 
even  seen  my  aunt  Marguerite.  She  is 
ill,  very  ill,  I  fear.  She  has  the  yellow 
fever  "  — 

"  What  !  "  the  interruption  was  a 
hoarse  cry  of  alarm  ;  he  threw  out  an 
arm  as  if  to  shield  her  from  some  tan- 
gible danger.  "  Madame  Chretien  has 
the  fever  !  Oh,  you  must  go  away. 
You  must  not  approach  her  room. 
Promise  me,  promise  me  !  " 

"  But,  indeed,  I  would  see  her  !  I 
would  nurse  her  if  they  would  allow 
me.  I  long  to  go  to  her  !  " 


Wqt  jflotoer  101 


"  Promise  me,"  he  insisted. 

"Is  it  then  so  terrible,  the  yellow 
fever?  "  she  asked,  incredulous. 

"It  is  very  terrible,"  he  replied. 
"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  it  in  the  city. 
There  are  flags  everywhere,  marking 
the  infected  houses,  and  guards  are 
placed  at  the  doors  to  prevent  people 
from  entering  or  coming  out.  The  en- 
trance to  my  own  quarters  is  from  an 
alley,  so  I  have  not  seen  the  flags  on 
this  house-door.  I  did  not  know  there 
was  fever  here.  Many  people  are  dying. 
The  dead  are  buried  almost  before  — 
Oh,  promise  me  that  you  will  not  enter 
Madame  Chretien's  room,  no  matter 
what  may  happen.  Promise  !  " 

"  But  you,  are  you  then  keeping  quite 
out  of  the  reach  of  danger  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I !  That  does  not  matter.  I 
have  lived  here  a  long  time.  I  have 
never  had  the  fever ;  but  I  am  not 
afraid"  — 


102         W$t  Queen's 


"  Neither  am  I  afraid  !  "  interrupted 
Noel  proudly. 

"  But  I  am  afraid  for  you.    Promise  !  " 

She  would  not  promise.  However, 
when  she  related  her  experience  of  the 
past  few  days,  and  the  extraordinary 
precautions  taken  by  Madame  Chretien 
to  insure  her,  Noel's,  isolation  and 
safety,  his  fears  subsided. 

"  But  what  a  dreary  home-coming  for 
you  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"That  is  nothing.  I  have  been 
dreary  —  and  alone  nearly  all  my  life  !  " 
she  said.  And  quite  unexpectedly  to 
herself  she  burst  into  tears.  The  tears, 
she  afterward  remembered,  were  sweet; 
they  were  shed  upon  Richard's  breast. 

cc  Dear  Heart,"  he  answered,  "  dear 
little  Heart  !  I  love  you.  I  will  never 
let  you  be  lonely  again." 

"  Look  !  Look  !  "  she  cried  raptur- 
ously, lifting  her  head.  "  The  flower 
has  come  into  bloom  !  " 


Wqt  jflotoer  103 


Snow-white  and  lovely,  like  a  bride 
awaiting  her  bridegroom,  the  exquisite 
blossom,  wide  open,  —  a  radiant  wheel, 
—  swayed  as  if  to  spirit  music  on  the 
up-curved  bracket-like  stem  ;  the  slender 
petals  whispered  to  some  invisible  Pre- 
sence ;  the  golden  heart  quivered  as  if 
under  the  caress  of  an  unseen  lover. 

They  hovered  over  it,  hand  in  hand, 
breathing  the  subtle  sweetness  of  its 
perfume.  "  The  Flower  has  come  into 
bloom,  Noel,  oh  my  Beloved,"  he 
murmured,  drawing  her  to  his  breast. 

The  moon,  full  and  round,  a  disk  of 
burnished  silver,  sailed  high  up  in  the 
deep  azure  sky,  bathing  them  in  tender 
light.  Down  in  the  famous  old  Place 
d'Armes  the  cathedral  clock  rang  out 
the  hour :  Nine. 

"  Oh,"  he  ejaculated  in  a  tone  of  dis- 
may. "  Why  have  I  permitted  you  to 
linger  so  long  in  the  night  air !  Go  into 
the  house ;  at  once,  my  Noel." 


104         Ww  £Uteen'£ 


She  clung  to  him. 

"  Besides,  I  must  hurry  off  to  my 
work." 

"  Work  ?  "  she  echoed.  "  At  night  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  help  to  turn  the  world  over 
every  night.  I  am  a  reporter."  See- 
ing that  she  did  not  understand,  "  I 
gather  news  for  a  great  daily  newspaper," 
he  explained. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  regarded  him  with  rever- 
ence. 

"  And  I  come  home  long  after  you 
have  had  your  beauty  sleep,  sweetheart." 

"  And  the  people  in  the  house,  there 
—  where  you  live  "  — 

"There  are  none,"  he  interrupted, 
laughing.  "  I  am  the  sole  inhabitant  of 
that  old  rookery.  The  others  —  lodgers, 
proprietors,  servants  —  it  was  a  lodging- 
house,  you  know  —  all  decamped  when 
the  first  red  and  yellow  flag  appeared  on 
our  street  —  like  the  pigs,  imbeciles,  cab- 
bage-heads of  your  old  Marcelle  !  " 

"  Then  you  are  lonely  too,  Richard." 


W$t  jfiotoer  105 


The  sound  of  his  name  on  her  lips 
filled  him  with  rapture.  "  I  was  lonely," 
he  said,  gazing  into  the  shining  eyes 
lifted  to.  his  in  the  moonlight.  "  But  I 
will  never  be  lonely  again  ! " 

"  You  will  come  back  to-morrow 
night  ?  "  she  entreated,  as  he  urged  her 
toward  the  house. 

"The  Prince  came  many  times  to 
the  Queen  in  her  garden,"  he  quoted 
jestingly.  "  Yes,  Noel.  I  will  come. 
When  the  guards  are  removed  from 
Madame  Chretien's  street-door,  I  will 
come  by  that  door  —  though,  like  the 
Prince,  I  were  a  thousand  times  for- 
bidden—  and  claim  you  for  my  wife. 
Until  then  I  will  come  by  c  Claude's 
Way/  " 

"  I  am  a  very  poor  man,  Noel,"  he 
turned  back  to  say  after  he  had  taken 
leave  of  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stair. 

"  Are  you  ?  "  Her  laughter  rippled 
musically  on  the  moonlit  stillness.  "  I 
am  so  glad  !  So  am  I.  Oh,  but  poorer 


io6 


than  you  can  imagine  !  Do  you  know, 
Richard,  I  have  done  much  harder 
scrubbing  than  upon  Cupid's  face." 

"  I  will  become  rich  for  your  sake  ! 
I  will  make  you  a  Queen  !  "  he  cried 
fiercely.  "  I  will  crown  you  with  jewels  ; 
I  will  build  you  a  palace  such  as  no 
Fairy  Story  ever  imagined  !  " 

"  Noel  !  "  Again  he  returned  to  her 
side.  This  time  his  voice  was  shaken 
with  boyish  glee.  "  You  need  not  trouble 
any  more  about  the  fat  little  book  of 
poems.  Careless  Noel  !  I  have  him 
drying  over  an  oil  lamp  in  my  room. 
He  has  escaped,  you  see,  though  you 
cannot  !  " 

Upon  this,  they  caught  hands  and 
danced  like  a  couple  of  children  in  the 
scented  darkness  of  the  corridor,  singing 
softly  :  — 

"  I  'm  in  this  Lady's  Garden  ! 
The  Gate  is  locked  and  the  key  is  lost. 
I  'm  in  this  Lady's  Garden." 


Wyt  jFlotaer  107 


She  watched  him  spring  up  the  stair- 
way of  the  wing,  and  swing  himself 
around  the  grille  to  his  own  gallery. 
She  waved  her  hand  in  answer  to  his 
parting  signal.  Then,  after  a  last 
glance  at  the  flower,  white  and  myste- 
rious on  its  shining  stem,  she  went  into 
the  house. 

All  was  silent  there  ;  silent  as  sleep, 
she  thought.  She  stole  to  the  barred 
door  and  laid  her  cheek  lovingly  against 
the  unheeding  panel.  "  I  love  you  La 
Reine  Margot,"  she  whispered.  "  I  long 
to  see  you.  I  long  to  tell  you  about 
him  —  about  Richard.  You  will  under- 
stand. You  know.  You  remember  !  " 

And  before  ascending  to  her  own 
room,  she  penned,  by  the  light  of  the 
vestibule  lamp,  a  line  of  loving  remem- 
brance to  Madame  Chretien  and  laid  it 
on  the  breakfast-table  where  it  could 
not  fail  to  meet  Marcelle's  eye$. 


XII 


THERE  were  not  only  no  flowers, 
but  the  table  had  not  its  usual 
well-ordered  appearance.  The 
breakfast  itself  showed  signs  of  hasty 
preparation.  Noel's  own  little  note  had 
been  picked  up  and  dropped,  or  thrown 
aside.  It  was  lying  on  the  floor,  and 
near  it  Madame  Chretien's  daily  bulle- 
tin, crumpled  and  torn  in  half  as  by 
some  one  in  a  sudden  outburst  of  rage 
or  despair. 

At  another  time  these  indications 
might  have  frightened  the  girl,  who  was 
not  unacquainted  with  the  disorder 
which  accompanies  alarm  in  cases  of  ex- 
treme illness.  But  her  eyes  were  still 
dazzled  by  the  glory  of  last  night's 
moon.  She  barely  tasted  the  lukewarm 
food ;  she  was  in  haste  to  behold  once 


109 


more  the  golden-hearted,  white-bloom- 
ing wonder  in  the  garden  ;  and  by  a 
sight  of  it  to  assure  herself  that  the  rest 
of  the  beautiful  dream  was  true. 

She  wished  to  fly  down  the  stair; 
she  found  herself,  instead,  descending 
slowly,  as  if  a  leaden  weight  were  at- 
tached to  her  ankles.  It  struck  her, 
too,  as  she  crossed  the  garden,  that  the 
sunshine  was  too  bright ;  it  gave  her 
a  slight  sensation  of  pain  about  the 
temples  ;  the  vivid  yellow  of  the  nastur- 
tiums in  their  round  bed,  the  scarlet  of 
the  geraniums  against  the  house-wall 
irritated  her  nerves.  She  reached  the 
low  brick  ledge  which  the  night  before 
had  served  her — and  Richard  —  fora 
seat.  But  she  started  back,  horror- 
stricken,  as  she  sank  upon  it.  The 
flower !  An  unsightly  semblance  of  a 
refolded  bud  drooped  upon  an  inert, 
discolored  stem.  A  few  limp,  yellowish 
white  petals  straggled  from  the  inclosing 


no 


sheath  ;  a  sickly  odor  exhaled  from 
them.  It  was  like  a  corpse  from  which 
even  the  still  beauty  of  death  had  de- 
parted. Noel  touched  it  caressingly, 
pityingly,  but  shrank  away,  repelled  by 
the  cold,  damp  lifelessness  of  the  thing 
but  yesternight  resplendent  with  vital- 
ity. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  an  emblem  of  "  —  She 
shuddered,  leaving  the  sentence  unfin- 
ished ;  and  rising,  moved  across  the  close 
to  look  up  at  the  vine-clad  gallery  cor- 
ner. There  was  no  one  behind  the 
drapery  of  leaves.  "  But  of  course  he 
must  be  sleeping,  if  he  has  been  turning 
the  world  over  all  night  !  "  she  reflected, 
her  spirits  rising  again.  "  And  I  shall 
see  him  to-night." 

It  was  a  long  day.  She  spent  it,  now 
in  the  house,  chilled  by  the  motionless 
shadows  there  ;  now  in  the  garden, 
burned  by  the  blinding  sun.  Her  im- 
patience took  away  her  appetite.  She 


could  not  eat  the  ill-cooked  food  hud- 
dled in  unseemly  disarray  on  the  din- 
ner-table. And  she  could  not  drink, 
though  her  throat  was  dry  and  parched. 

"  Will  night  never  come ! "  she  ex- 
claimed petulantly  into  the  face  of  the 
lingering  day.  No  sound  disturbed  the 
silence  of  house  or  court  except  an 
occasional  croak  from  the  parrot  in  his 
window  up  among  the  purple  roofs,  "  La 
morte  !  La  morte  !"  Noel  did  not  un- 
derstand the  words,  but  their  sinister 
echoes  vaguely  disturbed  her  peace. 

Nightfall  found  her  seated  on  the 
bench  beneath  the  orange-tree.  She 
had  wished  to  await  Richard's  coming 
by  the  brick  ledge  where  he  had  first 
found  her.  But  she  felt  a  superstitious 
dread  of  that  hideous  bud.  From  where 
she  sat,  moreover,  she  could  see  Claude's 
Way  in  the  dim  starlight,  —  for  the 
moon  had  not  yet  arisen,  —  and  she 
could  also  see  the  pale  night-light  in  the 


sick-chamber.  There,  she  presently 
became  aware  of  moving  shadows,  form- 
less and  indistinct,  passing  and  repass- 
ing,  hurried  and  silent.  She  stood  up 
and  strained  her  eyes  by  trying  to  re- 
cognize Marcelle's  turbaned  head  ;  or 
the  nurse  in  her  white  cap.  But  even 
the  shadows  had  fled. 

She  reseated  herself,  and  waited. 

A  broad  ray  of  moonlight  fell,  after  a 
time,  across  her  lap.  She  stifled  a  cry 
of  terror !  Her  white  gown  was  alive 
with  crawling  beetles,  black,  heavy- 
winged,  and  tenacious.  She  tried  to 
brush  them  off;  but  they  were  creeping 
up  her  sleeves,  clinging  to  her  throat, 
caught  in  the  meshes  of  her  hair,  alight- 
ing with  whirring  wings  on  her  bosom, 
falling  upon  her  face.  She  fought  them 
with  frantic  hands,  running  about  the 
court,  yet  forbearing,  even  in  her  fright, 
to  utter  a  sound,  lest  Richard  —  lest 
Richard  — 


113 


They  were  everywhere,  loathsome, 
horrible;  crawling  along  the  walks, 
dashing  themselves  clumsily  against 
lattices,  swinging  to  flower-buds,  drop- 
ping heavily  upon  benches  and  into 
jardinieres  —  darkening  the  very  air 
and  filling  it  with  a  ghastly,  corpse-like 
odor.  Outside,  in  the  streets,  there  were 
millions  of  them  — yellow  fever  beetles ', 
superstitious  folk  called  them  ;  brought 
into  being,  they  declared,  by  the  first 
fetid  breath  of  the  pestilence. 

Noel  lifted  white  imploring  arms 
toward  Claude's  Way  ;  but  there  was 
no  sound  there,  or  anywhere.  Only 
the  nauseous  beetles,  and  the  echo  of  the 
Cathedral  bell  down  in  the  old  Place 
d'Armes  booming  out  the  passing  hours. 

At  midnight  Noel  reentered  the 
house.  She  dragged  herself  up  the 
steps,  pale  and  exhausted  by  her  solitary 
vigil.  Her  garments  were  dank  with 
the  noisome  night  dews ;  their  folds 


H4 


were  heavy  with  the  sluggish  black 
creatures  whose  presence  she  had  long 
ceased  to  note. 

She  moved  like  a  ghost  to  the  closed 
door  and  fell  upon  its  threshold.  The 
silence  beyond  it,  she  thought,  was  like 
the  silence  of  death.  "  If  I  could  but  see 
you,  La  Reine  Margot,"  she  sobbed. 
"  To  tell  you  !  You  know.  You 
understand.  You  remember.  For  the 
Prince  ceased  to  come  to  you  also,  in 
your  garden." 


XIII 


THE  Sunday  stillness  was  the 
most  terrifying  yet.  But  stay, 
was  it  Sunday  ?  Noel  leaned 
her  head  back  against  the  orange-tree 
and  tried  to  think.  A  dull  pain  gnawed 
at  her  heart,  and  the  throbbing  of  her 
temples  confused  all  her  outer  and  inner 
senses.  Last  night,  with  its  long  fruit- 
less watch,  seemed  as  remote  as  the  be- 
ginning of  the  world.  And  Friday 
night ;  and  the  blooming  of  the  flower ; 
and  Richard  —  Nay,  but  all  this  was  a 
dream ! 

She  had  come  straight  to  the  garden 
from  her  bedchamber,  not  entering 
the  breakfast  room.  The  very  thought 
of  food  was  sickening/  Besides,  what 
might  she  not  find  there  to  add  certainty 
to  her  growing  apprehensions !  And 


n6 


she  longed  to  sit  in  the  sunshine  and 
get  warm.  She  was  cold  —  cold  to  the 
very  marrow  of  her  bones.  The  life- 
blood  seemed  to  have  congealed  in  her 
veins. 

She  looked  around  with  bloodshot 
eyes,  whose  luminous  gray  was  faded  to 
a  wan  yellow.  The  unkempt  walks 
were  thick  with  dead  beetles  ;  the  foun- 
tain, choked  with  them,  had  stopped 
playing.  The  stagnant  pool  at  Cupid's 
feet  held  a  distorted  reflection  of  his 
nude,  winged  figure;  he  leered  at  the 
girl  from  under  dust-begrimed  brows. 
Rank  incense  from  the  triple-horned 
datura  shading  his  shoulders  hung  in 
the  air. 

Madame  Chretien's  window  blinds 
were  flung  wide  open.  The  wistaria 
branches  along  the  south  wall  rose  and 
fell  monotonously  in  a  hot  wind  which 
seemed  to  Noel  to  blow  down  from  the 
north  pole.  The  sun  beating  upon  her 


uncovered  head  drove  an  ice-cold  spike 
into  her  brain. 

Her  head  drooped  to  her  breast.  She 
slept,  or  at  least  she  dreamed. 

She  dreamed  that  great-aunt  Harlowe 
had  thrust  her  out  of  the  musty  old 
house  at  home,  and  that  she  was 
wandering,  wandering,  wandering,  over 
the  deserted  prairie  —  wide  and  bare  as 
eternity  —  barefoot,  shivering,  in  her 
little  muslin  slip,  and  calling,  calling, 
calling  for  Papa.  Only  Papa's  name 
was  not  Claude  —  but  Richard.  And 
Richard  would  not  answer.  .  .  .  The 
heavens  opened ;  Judgment  Day  was 
come ;  blood-red  and  awful  —  as  her 
black  mammy  had  always  foretold.  A 
mighty  thunderbolt  rent  the  world  in 
twain ;  the  dead  came  forth  from  their 
graves  ;  gibbering  in  their  long  shrouds, 
and  pointing.  .  .  .  She  opened  dazed 
eyes.  The  knocker  on  the  street  door 
was  clanging  loudly.  Its  echoes  rever- 


berated  up  and  down  the  corridor.  She 
heard  a  falling  bar,  the  pushing  aside  of 
a  bolt,  and  the  opening  of  the  door; 
then  a  noise  as  of  feet  on  the  pavement 
within  —  feet  that  advanced  shuffling 
slowly  and  heavily.  She  started  up, 
fell  back  dizzy  and  weak,  and  started 
up  again.  A  frightful  premonition 
came  to  her  of  the  meaning  of  those 
shuffling  feet.  Men's  voices  in  hoarse 
whisperings  mingled  with  the  approach- 
ing sound. 

A  terrible  fascination  drew  her  gaze 
toward  the  corridor ;  the  echoing  tread 
came  nearer;  and  now  the  heavy  feet 
were  on  the  uncarpeted  steps.  The 
men  were  hidden  from  view  by  an  angle 
of  the  wall,  but  the  thing  they  carried 
dipped,  with  their  ascent,  toward  the 
ground,  and  she  saw  —  the  end  of  a 
coffin. 

She  opened  her  blue  lips,  but  no 
sound  issued  from  them.  She  tried  to 


119 


lift  her  hands  ;  they  fell  helpless  and 
inanimate  in  her  lap.  She  wished  to  fly 
from  the  court  and  hide  herself  in  her 
room  ;  her  feet  refused  to  move. 

Only  after  an  eternity  —  it  was  in 
reality  but  a  few  moments  —  when  she 
heard  those  heavy  feet  descending  the 
stair  again,  slowly,  carefully,  as  if  bearing 
a  heavier  burden,  she  crept,  stooping, 
to  the  rose-lattice  and  crouched  behind 
it,  shutting  her  eyes  lest  she  should  see 
the  Black  Thing  again. 

As  the  street  door  opened  once  more, 
a  wild  wail  broke  the  Sunday  stillness. 
Noel  recognized  Marcelle's  voice.  She 
heard  her  forsaken,  heart-rending  cry, 
muffled  and  far  away,  long  after  the 
ponderous  door  was  shut  and  barred. 
The  faithful  old  bonne,  then,  was  fol- 
lowing her  mistress  to  the  tomb,  as  she 
had  followed  La  Reine  Margot's  only 
son!  "She  is  dead!  She  is  dead! 
And  I  shall  never  see  her  !  "  whispered 


120         tEt^e  ffliueen^  Garten 


the  half-crazed  girl,  staring  through  the 
lattice  with  dry  eyes.  She  dared  not 
move,  but  cowered  in  her  hiding-place, 
while  the  sun  sank  in  a  sea  of  sulphur- 
colored  cloud.  For  one  instant  a  flame- 
like  haze  filled  the  court;  then  night 
fell  suddenly,  dark,  mysterious,  and 
ghostly.  The  beetles,  which  had  seemed 
dead,  lifted  their  shell-like  wings  and 
flew  aimlessly  hither  and  thither,  thicken- 
ing the  air  ;  and  a  poisonous  smell  stole 
down  on  the  vapory  air  from  the  infected 
mansion,  and  mingled  shamelessly  with 
the  pure  scent  of  the  night-blooming 
jessamine,  and  the  rank  breath  of  the 
triple-horned  datura. 

"  I  dare  not  stir,"  Noel  muttered. 
cc  They  will  see  me  and  make  me  go  in. 
I  cannot  go  in.  I  am  afraid.  And  I 
am  too  tired  to  climb  that  stair.  It  is 
so  high  !  So  high  !  " 

She  need  not  have  feared  spying  eyes, 
poor  child.  There  was  no  one  in  the 


great  dark  house,  except  Marcelle,  re- 
turned from  the  hasty  burial  of  her 
adored  mistress.  And  old  Marcelle 
had  forgotten  Noel's  existence  ! 

"  I  am  so  lonely,"  she  sighed.  "  And 
so  tired.  And  I  ache  so  horribly.  But 
I  dare  not  move.  I  cannot  climb  that 
dreadful  stair ! " 

But  she  did  at  length  start  to  her 
feet.  She  stood,  heedless  of  the  flying 
beetles,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  ear 
attentive,  her  hands  clasped  as  if  in 
supplication,  her  heart  beating  violently. 
The  sound  fell  again  upon  the  unnat- 
ural silence  of  the  night  —  a  groan,  and 
then  something  like  a  muffled  call,  or 
cry. 

Her  ankles  were  no  longer  weighted 
with  lead  !  A  stair  as  high  as  that  which 
once  led  to  Babel's  Tower  would  not 
have  daunted  her.  She  flew  with  the 
speed  of  a  woodland  fawn,  not  into  the 
mansion,  but  up  the  wing-stairway,  and 


122         tEHje  flkumt'tf 


along  the  upper  gallery,  to  the  grille. 
His  voice  !  Her  name  !  Noel.  Noel. 
She  distinctly  heard  him  call  her  name. 

"  Ah,  I  might  have  known  !  "  she 
murmured  in  a  tone  of  self-reproach. 
"  He  is  sick,  my  Richard.  He  is  call- 
ing me.  I  am  coming  Richard.  It  is 
I.  Noel  !  "  she  called  in  a  clear  silvery 
voice.  She  stepped  upon  the  low  rail- 
ing, grasped  an  iron  bar  of  the  grille 
with  a  firm  hand,  set  one  foot  upon  the 
gnarled  twist  of  the  wistaria-vine,  swung 
herself  out  into  mid-air,  and  dropped, 
light  as  a  bit  of  thistle-down,  upon 
Richard's  balcony. 

He  was  lying,  half  dressed,  upon  a 
low  couch  in  the  small  gallery  room. 
His  light  burned  dimly  in  the  smoking 
student-lamp  on  the  table.  A  litter  of 
loose  sheets  of  scribbled  writing-paper 
was  scattered  over  the  table  and  on 
the  floor  beside  the  couch.  The  flower 
she  had  pinned  on  his  coat  —  a  bit  of 


123 


sweet  olive  —  was  in  a  tumbler  of  water 
beside  the  discolored  copy  of  Moore. 

This  was  all  that  Noel  saw  as  she 
paused  timidly  on  the  threshold.  His 
face  against  the  pillow  was  ghastly  pale. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  and  glassy.  But 
some  intuition  drew  them  in  her  direc- 
tion, and  he  started  up,  stretching  out 
his  arms.  "  Noel  !  Noel  !  "  he  called 
ecstatically. 

A  spasm  of  pain  contracted  his  brows  ; 
it  seemed  to  awaken  him  sharply  to  a 
sense  of  her  danger.  "  Do  not  come  in, 
Noel  !  You  shall  not  touch  me,  I  tell 
you  !  Go  away,  Noel,  I  command  you  ! 
Do  you  not  see  that  I  have  the  fever  — 
the  yellow  fever"  he  shrieked  frantically. 
"  Go  away,  Noel." 

He  fell  back  upon  his  pillows  and 
delirium  seized  him  once  more.  "  She 
was  in  the  garden,"  he  muttered.  "  I 
saw  her,  white  like  a  white  dove.  But 
she  would  not  stay.  She  has  the  sweet- 


124 


est  voice  I  ever  heard.  And  we  saw 
the  flower  come  into  bloom  together. 
Max  !  "  he  cried  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tone.  "  You  have  cut  off  my  hand  ! 
Why  did  you  cut  off  my  hand  ?  My 
copy  will  never  be  ready  !  "  He 
struggled  up  again  and  stared  wildly 
around.  But  Noel  had  come  swiftly 
across  the  bare  floor  to  lay  her  hand  on 
his  breast.  She  forced  him  gently  back- 
ward. He  breathed  her  name  again 
softly.  She  fell  to  her  knees  beside  the 
couch  and  took  his  burning  hands  in 
hers. 

"  I  shall  never  be  lonely  again  as  long 
as  I  live,"  she  sighed,  laying  her  head 
beside  his  on  the  damp  pillow. 


XIV 


DOCTOR  Andrew  Grafton  was 
sitting  alone  in  his  office  that 
Sunday    night.      The    famous 
physician  was  a  tall,  spare  man,  with  a 
look  of  great  strength  and  vigor  about 
his  person,  despite  his  sixty-odd  years. 
His  hair  and    beard   were   gray.     The 
square  under  jaw  and  the  set  lips  gave 
a  stern  expression  to  his  face  ;  but  his 
dark  eyes  were  mild  and  benignant. 

A  bundle  of  letters  tied  with  a  faded 
ribbon  lay  on  the  desk  at  his  elbow ; 
he  held  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  the 
miniature  of  a  young  girl.  He  gazed 
steadily  at  her  pictured  face ;  and  her 
red  lips  smiled  innocently  back  at  him  ; 
her  white  satin  gown  was  stiff  with  em- 
broidery of  pearls,  and  a  string  of  milk- 
white  pearls  melted  into  her  beautiful 
neck. 


fatten 


"  I  loved  you,  Marguerite,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  I  have  loved  you,  and  none 
but  you,  my  whole  life  long.  You 
were  torn  away  from  me  in  life  ;  and  in 
death  you  are  farther  away  from  me 
than  ever  !  For  you  are  lying  in  your 
stately  tomb  beside  the  husband  they 
chose  for  you,  with  your  little  golden- 
haired  son  at  your  feet.  And  Claude, 
who  quarreled  with  you  for  my  sake, 
and  went  away,  we  knew  not  whither  — 
he,  too,  is  gone.  And  I  only  am  left  "  — 

A  step  sounded  in  the  outer  room. 
He  closed  the  locket  with  a  snap,  and 
swept  it  with  the  bundle  of  letters  into 
an  open  drawer. 

"  Doctor,"  called  the  fresh-faced  med- 
ical student  from  the  doorway,  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hand  ;  "  are  you 
there  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  doctor,  with  un- 
accustomed curtness.  "  I  am  here. 
What  do  you  want  ?  " 


"7 


Max  Warren  drew  a  step  nearer. 
cc  Are  you  going  down  to  see  Madame 
Chretien  again  to-night,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Madame  Chretien  died  this  after- 
noon. I  have  just  returned  from  her 
funeral." 

His  tone  awed  the  younger  man. 
"  Oh,  I  beg  pardon,  Doctor  Grafton.  I 
did  not  know  ;  "  he  lifted  his  hat  rev- 
erently. "  I  will  get  some  one  else." 
He  turned  to  go. 

"  Stay,  Max,"  called  the  doctor, 
mastering  himself  instantly.  "  What 
was  it  you  wanted,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Nothing  ;  that  is  —  I  have  to  go 
to  the  hospital  myself,  and  I  thought 
if  you  were  in  Madame  —  in  that  neigh- 
borhood, you  know,  you  might  see  if 
anything  is  wrong  with  Dick  Strong." 

"  Why,  has  he  the  "  — 

"  No,  no  ;  I  trust  not,"  interrupted 
Max  hastily.  "  But  he  did  not  show 
up  at  all  at  his  office  last  night  ;  and  he 


128         W$t  Queen's 


has  not  been  to  the  c  Pen  and  Pencil  '  to- 
day. So  I  thought  —  Dick  is  such  a 
regular  old  chap  —  Don't  trouble  your- 
self, doctor.  We  are  all  apt  to  forget 
how  tired  you  must  be.  I  '11  go  myself, 
later." 

"  No."  Doctor  Grafton  had  already 
put  on  his  hat  and  was  looking  around 
for  his  cane.  cc  Now  that  you  speak  of 
—  of  Madame  Chretien,  I  remember 
that  I  did  intend  to  go  there  to-night. 
I  had  forgotten."  A  ghost  of  a  sigh 
escaped  his  lips.  "  A  young  girl  —  the 
niece  of  Madame  Chretien,  her  only 
brother's  child,  arrived  at  her  house  a 
week  ago.  She  has  been  kept  out  of 
the  reach  of  danger.  But  I  must  look 
after  her  at  once.  I  will  see  Dick  as  I 
go  down.  I  hope  the  lad  is  all  right." 

"Thank  you,  doctor.  A  gallery 
room  in  the  wing  of  the  old  lodging- 
house,  just  this  side  of  —  of  Madame 
Chretien's." 


Clause's?  OTag  129 


"  Claude's  little  girl/'  mused  the  old 
doctor,  striding  along  the  hushed  street. 
"  How  Marguerite  clung  to  the  life  for 
which  she  had  long  ceased  to  care,  in 
the  hope  of  seeing  Claude's  daughter  ! 
And  I,  in  my  selfish  desolation,  had 
quite  forgotten  the  child  !  " 

He  forgot  her  again,  although  he  was 
now  her  guardian  and  the  trustee  of  the 
large  property  devised  by  Madame 
Chretien  to  her  sole  heir  —  "  my  be- 
loved niece  and  adopted  daughter,  Noel 
Lepeyre."  His  thoughts  were  again 
busy  with  the  past  ;  so  busy  that  it  was 
by  instinct,  and  not  through  any  recol- 
lection of  Richard  Strong,  that  he  shoved 
open  a  heavy  batten  door  which  was 
unlocked  and  sagged  a  little  on  its  giant 
hinges  ;  and  passed  along  a  familiar  but 
long  unvisited  corridor.  As  he  entered 
the  dilapidated  court  he  paused  and 
stared  uncertainly  around,  like  one 
awakening  from  a  dream.  Here  was 


130 


the  close,  once  a  blooming  Paradise, 
like  the  one  just  over  the  mossy  brick 
wall,  where  he  had  played  as  a  boy,  and 
dreamed  the  flattering  dreams  of  youth 
and  early  manhood.  It  was  filled  with 
the  accumulated  debris  of  successive 
occupants  ;  a  huge  rat  lumbered  across 
his  feet  and  loped  away  to  the  shelter 
of  a  tangled  thicket  of  weeds  under  a 
jutting  balcony.  A  dreary,  monotonous 
drip-drop  echoed  from  the  corner  where 
a  leaking  cistern  huddled  against  the 
wall.  The  house  where  he  was  born 
reared  its  gloomy  facade,  dark  and  silent, 
against  the  misty  sky.  How  many 
years  since  he  had  followed  his  mother's 
coffin  down  the  corridor,  and  —  the  last 
of  his  race  —  quitted  the  old  mansion 
forever  !  Its  gradual  decay  into  a 
common  lodging-house  had  not  been 
unknown  to  him,  but  he  had  never  real- 
ized it  until  now.  Faugh  I  He  stum- 
bled across  the  cluttered  court  feeling 


Clauds  Way  is1 


his  way  with  careful  outstretched  cane. 
cc  Gallery  room  ?  Ah,  that  must  be  the 
room  yonder,  where  a  light  is  burning. 
By  Jove,  my  own  old  fencing  quarters  ! 
I  wish  the  boy  had  not  elected  to  lodge 
in  this  particular  house.  Well,  well,  I 
will  see  him  first  ;  and  then  for  my  little 
ward.  Heigh-ho  !  " 

The  crooked  stair  creaked  under  his 
feet  as  he  climbed  it.  Halfway  up,  the 
soft  murmur  of  a  voice  —  a  woman's 
voice  —  reached  his  ear.  He  turned, 
half  inclined  to  retreat.  "  The  lad  has 
visitors,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  grim 
smile.  "  A  visitor  !  Evidently  I  am 
not  needed  here  !  " 

Nevertheless  he  strode  on. 

"  My  God  !  "  He  stood  rooted  to 
the  sill  of  the  open  door.  Richard's 
face,  from  pale  had  become  livid  ;  his 
eyes  were  closed,  the  damp  hair  clung 
to  his  forehead,  and  heavy  beads  of  per- 
spiration stood  on  his  temples.  He  lay 


132 


quite  still,  like  one  dead.  But  Noel, 
kneeling  beside  his  couch  with  her 
golden  head  against  his  shoulder,  and 
his  hands  in  hers,  was  babbling  volubly. 
A  bright  spot  burned  scarlet  in  either 
cheek  ;  her  eyes  rolled  wildly  ;  she 
moistened  her  parched  lips  incessantly 
with  a  red  tongue. 

The  lamp  gave  out  a  stifling  smell. 
The  heavy  atmosphere  reeked  with  con- 
tagion. 

"  My  God  !  "  repeated  Doctor  Graf- 
ton. 

Noel  looked  up,  a  gleam  of  con- 
sciousness dawning  into  her  eyes.  fc  I 
heard  him  call,"  she  whispered.  "  And 
I  came  to  him.  Hush  !  You  must 
not  awaken  him.  He  is  very  sick. 
He  has  the  yellow  fever.  And  La 
Reine  M  argot  is  dead,  and  I  will  never 
see  her." 

"  Noel  !  "  Doctor  Grafton  spoke 
sharply,  seeking  to  arrest  the  fleeting 


ClauDe'0  OTap  133 


intelligence.  "  How  did  you  get  out  — 
how  did  you  come  here  ?  " 

«I  —  i  ?  »  she  smiled.  "  I  came  by 
Claude's  Way.  And  I  will  never  be 
lonely  again  as  long  as  I  live.  Ah-h-h. 
See  !  The  end  of  a  coffin  !  Judgment 
Day  has  come  !  " 

He  did  not  hear  her  shuddering 
shriek.  "  Claude  s  Way."  Even  as  he 
advanced  rapidly  toward  the  two  forlorn 
young  creatures  thus  thrown  together 
by  the  strangest  of  chances,  his  heart 
was  swelling  with  poignant  emotion. 
"Claude's  Way."  The  "  Course  Peril- 
ous," so  named  by  Claude  Lepeyre 
and  himself  when  they  were  boys  ;  the 
way  by  which  they  came  and  went 
stealthily,  secure  from  stern,  forbidding 
eyes.  The  way  by  which  he,  Andrew 
Grafton,  sometime  called  the  Prince, 
grown  to  manhood,  was  used  to  enter 
by  night  the  garden  of  his  father's  life- 
long enemy  —  nay,  the  pleasaunce  of 


134 


his  Lady,  the  garden  of  La  Reine  Mar- 
got  !  The  way  so  long  untrodden  by  a 
dispossessed  Prince.  "  Claude's  Way/' 
Love's  way  ! 

With  these  memories  whirling  through 
his  brain,  the  old  doctor  had  caught  up 
a  woolen  shawl  from  the  foot  of  the 
couch,  and  was  wrapping  Noel  in  its 
folds.  He  paused  to  lay  a  professional 
hand  on  Richard's  clammy  forehead, 
and  to  touch  the  inert  wrist.  cc  I  will 
come  back  in  a  few  moments,  Dick," 
he  said  in  the  ear  of  the  unconscious 
sleeper,  "  but  I  fear  it  is  too  late. 
Much  too  late.  Poor  boy." 

He  lifted  the  girl  from  the  floor. 
She  made  no  resistance  ;  her  hot  head 
fell  against  his  neck  ;  her  fevered  breath 
burned  his  cheek.  He  clasped  the  light 
burden  with  one  powerful  arm,  as  he 
came  out  into  Richard's  leafy  watching- 
place.  He  seized  the  iron  bar  with  his 
right  hand,  and  a  second  later  he  was 


Map  135 


passing     along     the     well-remembered 
gallery  beyond. 

Noel,  cradled  on  his  breast,  was  croon- 
ing dreamily  :  — 

"  The  Gate  is  locked  and  the  key  is  lost  ! 
I  'm  in  this  Lady's  Garden.' 

The  parrot,  wakeful  on  his  lofty  perch, 
croaked  dismally  back,  — 
"LaMortel   LaMorte!" 


XV 


THE  late  October  sunshine,  a  lit- 
tle hazy  and  a  trifle  less  daz- 
zling than  the  sunshine  which 
had  first  greeted  Noel  into  the  Queen's 
garden-close,  fell  full  upon  her  one 
morning,  sitting  on  the  bench  under  the 
orange-tree.  The  fountain  was  play- 
ing briskly ;  Cupid  received  the  light 
spray  on  his  shining  shoulders  with  a 
chastened  smile  ;  the  yellow  butterflies 
hovered  like  golden  motes  above  the 
blue  cones  of  the  water-hyacinths  in  the 
basin.  All  about  was  a  riot  of  leaf,  ten- 
dril, and  blossom.  It  was  as  if  a  new 
summer  had  entered  the  close,  treading 
out  with  beneficent  feet  all  vestiges  of 
that  brief  and  awful  moment  when  de- 
cay and  death  had  dwelt  there. 

Doctor  Grafton  had  fetched  a  garden 


137 


chair  for  himself  from  the  pillared  arcade, 
and  placed  it  in  the  walk  facing  his 
young  ward.  He  had  been  telling  her 
of  her  father's  boyhood  and  his  own  :  of 
the  bitter  family  feud  between  the  Graf- 
tons  and  the  Lepeyres,  once,  long  ago, 
bound  together  by  ties  of  closest  bro- 
therhood ;  of  the  beautiful  young  girl 
whom  he  had  loved  —  and  lost  ;  thus 
piecing  out  for  her  the  old  Fairy  Story, 
making  it  whole,  and  more  lovely  — 
and  oh,  how  past  conceit  more  sad  ! 
Then  there  was  a  long  silence. 

"  She  is  an  ugly  little  creature,  my 
ward,"  thought  the  doctor,  looking  at 
her  through  half-closed  eyes.  She  wore 
the  rusty  black  frock  in  which,  in  com- 
pany with  Major  John  Steele,  she  had 
arrived  weeks  ago  at  the  gate  of  the 
Queen's  Garden.  Her  illness  had  left 
her  frightfully  emaciated  and  pale  al- 
most to  deathliness.  Her  gray  blue 
eyes  were  heavy  ;  her  lips  had  lost  their 


i38 


rosy  bloom  ;  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
drooped  pitifully.  "  Yes,  she  is  ugly, 
Claude's  daughter.  And  yet  she  re- 
minds me,  somehow,  of  Marguerite  !  " 

"  I  smell  violets,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  You  will  find  them,"  said  Noel  lan- 
guidly, "growing  over  beyond  the  cistern 
under  the  edge  of  the  wall." 

He  went  and  plucked  a  few  blossoms, 
kneeling  on  the  moist  flagstones. 

cc  How  well  you  know  this  garden," 
he  observed,  coming  back  and  handing 
her  the  violets. 

"  Oh,"  she  returned,  letting  the 
flowers  slip  through  her  transparent  fin- 
gers, "  I  lived  in  this  garden  a  hundred 
years  -  —  once." 

Again  there  was  a  silence. 

"  The  gate  was  locked  and  the  key  was 
lost"  she  half  sang,  half  chanted,  smiling 
sadly  at  him. 

It  was  a  sweet  voice.  Doctor  Graf- 
ton,  the  great  musical  connoisseur,  was 


139 


surprised  by  its  underlying  strength  and 
timbre. 

"  By  the  way,  it  is  yours,  you  know, 
Noel  —  the  garden,"  he  said  suddenly. 

"  I  do  not  want  it,"  she  interrupted 
quickly.  "  I  am  going  home  —  back  — 
to  second  cousin  Louisa  Marsh.  She 
will  die  of  course.  Everybody  dies." 

"  Not  everybody  !  "  the  doctor  ob- 
jected lightly.  "You,  for  example. 
You  "  — 

"  Oh,  I !  "  Noel's  lip  curled  disdain- 
fully. "  I  mean  everybody  who  means 
anything ;  everybody,  above  all,  who  has 
anything  to  do  with  me.  I  am  like 
that  tree,  you  know  "  — 

"  The  upas,"  suggested  the  doctor 
indulgently. 

"The  upas.  My  mother  first,  and 
then  my  father."  She  told  them  off, 
according  to  wont,  on  her  fingers. 
"  Aunt  Hester,  and  great-aunt  Har- 
lowe.  Step-aunt  Mitchell.  And  then 


tEEfte  tibnttn'8 


my  Tante  Marguerite,  whom  I  never 
saw.  Then  "  —  the  last  word  was  spo- 
ken under  her  breath.  She  glanced 
furtively  up  at  Claude's  Way  and  the 
bit  of  shaded  gallery  beyond.  Her  eyes 
clouded  and  drooped. 

"  Old  !  "  cried  the  doctor.  "  Old,  all 
of  them  !  And  quite  ready  to  creep 
out  of  life.  Or  else  careworn,  and  dis- 
appointed, and  miserable.  Or  too  pure 
and  lovely  to  linger  in  a  world  like  this." 
He  bared  his  head  and  glanced  in  his 
turn  at  the  window  of  the  room  where 
Madame  Chretien  died.  "  But  when 
one  is  young  and  strong  and  passion- 
ately in  love  with  love  and  life  !  That 
you  will  admit,  Noel,  that  is  different." 

She  looked  at  him  with  suddenly  di- 
lated eyes.  "  Doctor  !  "  she  cried,  clasp- 
ing imploring  hands.  "  Doctor  Grafton, 
do  you  mean  that  he  —  that  one  so  very 
near  death  can  —  could  "  —  She  leaped 
to  her  feet.  "  How  dare  you  treat  me 


ILobe'0 


so  ! "  she  burst  out  angrily,  her  hands 
pressed  to  her  breast,  her  breast  heaving 
painfully  ?  "  Why  do  you  not  tell  me. 
Do  you  know  him?  Have  you  seen 
him  ?  But  I  know  it  is  not  true.  He 
—  everybody  is  dead.  Everybody." 

She  sank  back  to  her  seat  panting  and 
sobbing,  her  face  hidden  in  her  folded 
arms.  Doctor  Grafton  had  started  for- 
ward alarmed.  But  he  halted,  listening 
to  a  footstep  that  came  hurrying  down 
the  corridor. 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder  and  drew  him  silently  along 
the  walk. 

"  Miss  Lepeyre,"  he  said  with  a  great 
affectation  of  ceremony,  "  allow  me  to 
present  my  friend,  Mr.  Richard  Strong." 

"  Noel !  "  cried  Richard,  bending  ten- 
derly over  her  and  touching  her  bowed 
head  with  a  timid,  entreating  hand. 

He  was  as  colorless  and  wraith-like 
as  herself.  They  might  have  been,  in 


their  pale  ethereal  beauty,  two  disem- 
bodied spirits,  meeting,  after  their  re- 
lease from  earthly  life,  in  some  divinely 
sheltered  bower  of  Paradise  ! 

But  as  she  looked  up,  a  vivid  blush 
dyed  her  cheeks ;  a  radiant  smile  parted 
her  lips. 

"  O  Richard,  d  mon  roi !  "  murmured 
the  old  doctor,  stealing  a  glance  at  them 
and  turning  away.  "  She  is  beautiful, 
Claude's  daughter,"  he  added,  looking 
up  at  Claude's  Way.  "  She  is  like  Mar- 
got." 

Like  Margot!  Like  Youth  !  Like 
Love  ! 


PRINTED  BY  H.  O.  HOUGHTON  &  CO. 

CAMBRIDGE,   MASS. 

U.   S.   A. 


YB  74383 


